For the love of Leingod
by Zenphoenixa
Summary: STEP 2: GIVE GIFTS TO YOUR LOVER! What have Albel and the Crimson Scourge done now? With a giant bunny on the rampage, Cliff stuck in a wall and a carnivorous cake on the loose, it can't get much worse! In theory, that is. Er... crack alert. :AlbelxFayt:
1. Prologue: Love bites

Hey all, Zen here! Normally I don't dabble in fanfictions since I prefer concentrating on fanarts, but this is one idea I couldn't shake off which can't be put in a single fanart, and I don't have time to turn it into a comic either. :( So, this is my first attempt at a Star Ocean fanfic and if it sucks, then so be it. P Hard to say how long it'll be but I'm guessing less than 10 chapters, depending on whether I manage to still my rambling tongue. XD

**DISCLAIMER:** Characters aren't mine. Duh. Otherwise I'd be out there making buckets and buckets of money, not typing stories in a heatwave with no fan. :P

**RATING/WARNINGS:** T, just in case Albel's mouth gets more potty. Rampant shounen-ai. Bad love advice. Hilt beatings. Oo

**FEATURED CHARACTERS:** Albel, Cliff, Fayt, talking sword… maybe a couple of cameos from the others if I feel benevolent…

**SUMMARY:** Albel's smitten with a certain someone in the party, but lacks the necessary wherewithal to make his feelings known. Much insanity, humiliation and bad tempers abound as Albel follows "Dr Feelgood" Cliff's four step lurve program accompanied by his wisecracking sidekick, the Crimson Scourge… happy happy fun time!

**PAIRING:** If you know me on deviantART, it should be bleeding obvious. If not, look at the darn title. XD

-----------------------------------------------

**PROLOGUE/ Love bites:**

"This is _ridiculous_!"

_ >>Just shut up and knock.>> _

"No. Out of the question. I don't even want to be here…"

_ >>Yet you are here nonetheless. Don't you find that just a tad ironic?>>  
_  
"Dammit!"

Albel Nox, aka Albel the Wicked (or as he was commonly known among native Elicoorian tribes, _"Ikky Ookie Peeka Choo" _which roughly translates to "Man who fights in girly clothes") was frustrated. And that was bad, since living things tend to die when that happens. Here in one of the many cool, sterilized hallways of the Diplo living quarters however, there was a fortunate shortage of animate beings, with the only exception being a lonely looking pot plant sitting next to some poor sap's doorway. Albel narrowed his eyes as he glared at it, already envisioning the innocent little tree as a useful punching bag.

_ >>You know… there's no point getting so angry about it. If my memory serves me correctly, I do recall that this was your idea in the first place…>> _

Albel pointedly broke away from the door he'd previously been poised to knock upon, aiming a solid slash with his claws at the luckless plant. Stupid idea anyway, putting plants in a space ship… he wondered fleetingly who's marvelous idea that had been. The thrill of destruction was only temporary reprise though, and he grated his teeth as the incessant little voice in his head barreled on as though he had never tried to block it out.

_>>How long are you going to spend moping? You really have gotten quite insufferable over the past week… I think an attitude change is called for, don't you think?>> _

Albel didn't stoop to agree or disagree, settling instead for leveling a ferocious glare at the sword strapped by his side.

_ >>And stop pulling such awful faces. All those frown lines make you look like a disgruntled baboon.>>  
_  
Okay. So the Crimson Scourge was undoubtedly the most powerful sword in the kingdom of Airyglyph (excellent for earning gloating points at parties), it was magic (always a good plus), it could potentially cleave the sky in two (looks great on a resume) and on top of all that it somehow managed to be well versed in the English language (excellent for those awkward ice-breaker moments) but _dang nabbit _the thing sure could NAG.

Albel's glare wavered for a few moments. He certainly didn't want to be looking like a baboon – what would the local fangirl population think? He compromised instead with a tight-lipped frown, reaching down to yank the Crimson Scourge out of its scabbard to hold it accusingly before his eyes. In the polished steel of the slender blade, Albel saw his own frustrated face reflected in a soggy mess of refracted light and melted colour.

"I thought you were supposed to be helping me!" he growled, giving the sword a bit of a shake for extra emphasis.

_ >>I'm only here for moral support and the sheer enjoyment of watching you squirm in your pretty purple skirt.>> _The Crimson Scourge's mental voice was coloured with a distinct sadistic edge, and the blade seemed to bend itself back into a wicked grin but maybe it was just a trick of the light._ >>If you're getting cold feet though, then why don't you remind yourself why you came? Read that blasted newspaper clipping again and stop whining. You're giving me a hilt-ache.>> _

Albel closed his eyes as the Crimson Scourge cut off their shared mental connection, letting out a slow breath as he struggled to loosen the tension that was spreading through his entire upper body. The nervous flutter in his chest which had momentarily been suppressed by rising anger was creeping to the surface again, and he slumped against the closest wall for support.

As much as he hated to admit it… the damn sword was right. He _had _been insufferable lately, even more so than usual. His maggot comrades hadn't failed to notice the exponential rise in his verbal sniping, or the unpleasant glower which now seemed to be a permanent fixture on his otherwise aesthetic face. He knew that they had put his behaviour down to restlessness and culture shock – they had been flying on the Diplo for some time now, gearing up for the eminent confrontation with the enigmatic Creator, and the cramped quarters would be enough to make most people mentally itchy for more open spaces and blue sky. There was also the significant matter of having to grow accustomed to the strange technology that pervaded the ship. Being a member of the party who hailed from a backwater planet impacted on Albel's pride, since he certainly did not consider himself to be stupid… but could he help it if the mere mechanism of a light switch held an unparalleled mysticism for one such as he? ("Light goes on…. Light goes off! Light goes on…. Light goes off!")

Oh yes, those were certainly good reasons for Albel's bad behaviour, and he made no move to discourage his comrades' drawn conclusions. He couldn't have asked for a better arrangement actually, considering it was a perfect façade for the true reasons which were running rampant under the surface and which were currently driving him stark, raving bonkers. Seven days worth of restless nights, nail biting, fidgeting, palpitations and "interesting" dreams which usually always demanded _very _cold showers afterwards had finally driven the swordsman to breaking point. Yes peoples, you heard it here first.

Albel Nox was **_in_ _love!_**

Albel stared morosely at the immaculately clean, polished floor of the hallway, digesting all the weird feelings churning in his gut. Up until now, there hadn't been much room inside for such pitiful emotions. It seemed inconceivable anyway that there would be room for anything else apart from the usual bones, blood and vital organs that came with the average Joe. The human body was a small thing most of the time, and Albel's frame was smaller than most… but somehow, those niggling feelings had wormed their way inside anyway and morphed into the infernal butterflies which were currently tormenting his stomach lining with nervous little wings.

He didn't know whether to be pleased or resentful of the sensation. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling. The warm flush that coloured his cheeks every time he caught a glimpse of the object of his affection was somewhat gratifying, the stirred emotions setting his heart singing to the point where he felt like he was walking on air. On the downside though, Albel the Wicked certainly did NOT need to gain a reputation for blushing like a love-struck school girl whenever said person uttered a simple "Good morning" in his direction. How bloody embarrassing.

Hence, something had to be done. **_Now_. **He couldn't keep living like this!

The newspaper clipping had been something akin to a Godsend… at least, it had seemed to be at the time since it had conveniently appeared during the apex of Albel's frustration. Admittedly it hadn't actually originated from a _true _newspaper, but the modestly sized newsletterwhich circulated on a weekly basis through the Diplo was usually referred to as a newspaper and most people left it at that. Usually it was filled with boring, nonsensical stuff. Reports on the current affairs of planets, updates on technological maintenance in the ship courtesy of the Diplo crew, estimated time of arrival to whatever destination they were on course for… but this week, there had been something noticeably different which staid Albel's page-flipping hand.

Ads, ads, ads… lots of them. Some weren't particularly appealing – Mirage's offer of kick boxing lessons obviously had little regard for the less pain tolerant non-Klausians on the ship, while Leiber's offer of making hand crafted dollies out of oyster shells and googlie eyes was just plain disturbing. The last one though had caught Albel's eye, even though he had initially scoffed it off. Try as he might though, he couldn't bring himself to throw the newspaper out with the usual daily trash. The bundle of paper had remained where he threw it in the furthest corner of his room, hovering at the edges of his vision whenever he crossed the threshold between the hallway and his quarters and doggedly insisting on being the last thing he looked upon before falling into troubled sleep. Like with so many things in Albel's life so far, enough had once again been enough.

With a small sigh, Albel tugged a crumpled square of paper from his waistband and peeled back the folded edges. He'd opened and folded it so many times during his week of indecision that the clipping was looking rather sad and rumpled, but the print was still reasonably legible…

--------------------------------

_**LOVE TROUBLES? ALL HUNG UP? SCARED SILLY OF WINDING UP A SINGLE OLD SPINSTER? I'LL LEND A FIN, THE DOCTOR IS ALWAYS IN!**_

_**DR FEELGOOD**_

_PHD. LUV DIP ED.MEGA MOJO_

**_FREE CONSULTATIONS! FIRST THREE CALLERS ENTITLED TO A MUFFIN! (Plus $49.95 postage and handling)_**

_**DIPLO LIVING QUARTERS, ROOM 69, OH BABY YEAH! **_

--------------------------------

"You know…" Albel muttered slowly, and not for the first time, "… this might not be such a good idea."

During Albel's moment of moody recollection, the Crimson Scourge had slipped out of his grasp to recline leisurely against the wall beside its young master. As Albel voiced his doubts for the umpteenth time however, the sword noticeably bristled and propelled itself from the wall to hop _en pointe _before Albel to imperiously thump his foot with the butt end of its hilt.

"_**OW!**_ You blasted _stick!_ What was that for?" The swordsman roared, clutching his abused foot with both hand and claw while crazily hopping around the place in a bid to keep his upset balance. The Crimson Scourge was merciless though, bouncing right after Albel to administer another whack but this time to the inviting curve of his purple rump, and was rewarded with yet another yell which could've been bottled and marketed to strip plaster.

_ >>Stupid lovesick dolt!>> _The Crimson Scourge's mind voice dripped with scorn as it nipped at Albel's jumping-jellybean heels. >>_MUST I do everything for you!>> _

With one smooth motion, the sword leapt off the glossy floor, its hilt aimed directly for the flat plain of door which marked the entrance to room 69. The crash it made upon impact was louder than any human knock, resounding through not only the air of the hallway but the walls, floor and ceiling panels to the point where everything seemed to shudder and shake. His throbbing foot forgotten, Albel whirled around fearfully to glance at the door which was now sporting a very deep dent, and which furthered his suspicions that the Crimson Scourge's mother must have been an anvil.

The nightmare took the very turn Albel had been dreading as the door slid open at last, while everything seemed to revert to slow motion as a dreadfully familiar figure was gradually revealed, bit by torturous bit. Even as Albel gaped in horror, the Crimson Scourge (traitorous to the end) craftily swept the battered newspaper clipping in the direction of the newcomer where it was quickly swept up and perused by a meaty, armour plated hand.

A heartbeat passed which was closely followed by another, as Albel tried to make the difficult split-second decision of whether to wring the Crimson Scourge by the hilt or to do it to his own neck. He had to admit… the latter sounded _really _appealing. However, so did the tempting idea of gutting the person before him since he could eliminate all witnesses that way, as long as he could figure out how to open the air lock door on the Diplo afterwards to jettison the body. He couldn't recall when he'd last felt so humiliated, not even the time when he'd been untactful enough to use the word "intercourse" in a speech for a charity function dedicated to celibate religious priestesses of Airyglyph.

But even though panicky static in Albel's ears was drowning out most sounds, the voice that came cutting through the air was relentlessly deep, booming and – worst of all – far too amused for Albel's liking.

"Since I'm such a nice guy…" Cliff Fittir drawled, grinning broadly at the mortified expression on Albel's face, "… the muffin's ON THE HOUSE!"

--------------------------------------

Liked it, hated it, let me know! P

Next chapter – "The Doctor is in". Expect hyperventilation, half-eaten corn muffins and really bad guessing games… Oo


	2. The doctor is in!

G'day again insane readers! (Don't give me that look, you're obviously insane if you're reading this.) XD Ready for more silly fun and games? Heh heh anyway thankyou for the reviews and Soulrio – the Crimson Scourge is THE perfect gift to give this Christmas. Every kid will want one, I swear to God. XD

Little disclaimer: I am in no way suggesting that IKEA is hell bent on world domination. Maybe. :Shifty eyes:

--------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER 1/ The Doctor is in!**

On numerous occasions, Albel had heatedly argued with the Crimson Scourge about the various cons of the dilemma he finally found himself entangled in. Now, as he was driven by the Crimson Scourge at sword-point after the so-called "Dr Feelgood", he KNEW for sure that all hopes of leaving with his dignity intact had flown straight out the window and died in the flowerbed below.

Albel didn't really know what he'd been expecting from the "Doctor's" office. _Something_ that at least radiated a sense of professionalism would've been reassuring. Nice furniture, good décor, maybe an elegant artwork or two... then again, perhaps that was expecting too much out of a bloke who had to rely on budget advertising to a demography who he'd been hoping would take pity on his dubious "doctoring" skills. Not to mention artwork was out of the question unless it involved naked Playboy Bunnies, considering the earful Albel had copped about Cliff's understanding of "Impressionism".

Hence room 69, to put it bluntly… was a bloody _wreck_. Albel knew that each living space in the Diplo came outfitted with a built-in wardrobe, but it was apparent that the words " open", "wardrobe", "door", "and", "put", "your", "clothes", "inside" didn't form part of Cliff's vocabulary… at least in that order. As Albel's eyes mapped the rest of the room, he silently ticked off more words that probably didn't exist on Planet Cliff. "Clean underwear" topped the list, closely followed by "properly disposed half-eaten corn muffins", "discreetly concealed copies of Big Knockers magazine" and "hidden box sets of Totally Spies". The sinking feeling in Albel's stomach wasn't helped much by Cliff's appearance either. Seriously, how many Doctors still strutted around in their Hotstuff boxers at three in the afternoon?

"Well then…" Cliff began cheerfully, snorting a bit as he idly scratched his stomach, "Take a seat! Sorry 'bout the mess. Whoo, that was one hell of a room party last night. Just woke up. Sorry. Whoops I already said that, heh heh. Want the muffin now or later?"

Albel regarded the proffered muffin which, truth be told, looked rather nibbled around the edges. What really worried him though was that those teeth marks looked far too small to have been made by a Klausian's jawline. The muffin had all neon-lit signs pointing to it as the harbinger of a strain of Neo Black Plague.

"No," Albel said curtly and crossing his arms, marveling at how steady his voice remained. "And I'll stand."

Cliff shrugged, setting the muffin on top of a small mountain of clothing for later retrieval before casually launching himself back onto his unmade bed. Albel looked on distastefully as the Klausian leisurely reclined, appearing as though he had all the time in the world and completely undeterred by the presence of a potentially homicidal maniac less than a few feet away.

"Soooo… love troubles eh? Didn't really expect a guy like you to go for that sort of thing but hey, that's cool. Anyway, you've come to the right place. If you look behind you, you'll see I have a certified PHD in LUV!" Cliff said proudly, his hands crossed behind his head as he grinned at the ceiling.

Albel didn't really feel like burning up calories to turn around, but he decided to humour Cliff for at least a little while before deciding whether to disembowel him. Stuck to the wall with clear tape was a brown sheet of paper, on which was scrawled the same qualifications that had appeared in the newspaper ad. As Albel peered closer though, Cliff half-raised himself off the bed and waved one hand frantically. "YO! No need to go so close, that's a precious piece of paper you know! Hey hey HEY no touching…!"

Too late though, since Albel had already reached out and broken a piece off the corner of the paper. Without hesitation, he popped it in his mouth and started to chew, while his red eyes narrowed accusingly upon the sheepish looking Klausian who had returned to concentrating hard on the ceiling.

"This is made out of beef jerky," Albel announced, his voice flat. "And you used old gravy as ink."

"That's _exactly_ what I like about you Nox. Nothing escapes you! Hear that neighbour? NOTHING ESCAPES HIM!" Cliff yelled jubilantly, banging crazily on the wall next to his bed with both fists. A muffled "Fuck off!" permeated the wall, which Cliff blocked out with a jolly laugh and more rapid-fire words. "But hey, look. Since you're such a sporting guy I'll make things easy for you. No need to say anymore – my amazing powers of luuuurve deduction have already told me the _precise_ identity of your lucky lady!"

Cliff didn't know why Albel's expression immediately darkened, especially since it sounded like a totally reasonable proposal. Then again, the light fixture in his room had needed replacing for some time now…. yes yes, that must be it. Without further ado…

"Aw HMMMMM…." Cliff chanted in monotone, flinging his hands around for dramatic effect. Albel allowed himself a moment to close his eyes in disbelief. "It… is… MIRAGE!"

Albel's face now sported an expression he had patented as "Disgruntled, salted cod".

"Of course that was just a test run, heh heh. Okay, gearing up now for the real thing!" Cliff laughed nervously, waving his hands again. "Aw HMMMMM…. aw HMMMMM…. aw HMM-… oh my God, it's MARIA!"

Albel's expression morphed seamlessly into "Angry whale shark".

"Great Doctors out there _always _use processes of elimination, and I am a _great _doctor," Cliff preened, recovering quickly. "Well that settles it. It's gotta be NEL, right?"

Cliff felt himself almost get scalded by the sheer force of Albel's "Snapper Turtle" glare, and was forced to check if his eyebrows had been singed.

"Wow, but those are all the hot ladies on the Diplo! Unless you count PEPPITA but she's not legal." Cliff hesitated a fraction too long. "It's NOT Peppita, right?"

The Crimson Scourge magically levitated into Albel's open palm.

"Just kidding just kidding," Cliff said with a forced laugh, holding his hands out protectively. "Well, that's strange. If it's not a hot lady then it must be a hot man! Which means it _should_ be me…" Cliff eyed the way the Crimson Scourge shifted in Albel's grasp and thought better of it, "… but you didn't drool at the sight of these luscious abs, so that's your loss, heh. Er… Adray's out, since no one likes Adray. Except for his mother. And that's only because she's senile. And Roger ain't even human. So that leaves… that leaves…"

Albel's scowl lifted a little and his hold on the Crimson Scourge relaxed slightly, allowing himself a tiny fragment of hope that things were moving back on course.

"_I just realised!"_ Cliff exclaimed, suddenly sitting up straight as a plank and with eyes bulging.

"What?" Albel pressed him, trying not to sound too eager.

"I'M THIRSTY AND I NEED A DRINK! Want one?" Cliff whooped.

The stars were smiling on Cliff when they decided that he would be born a Klausian, almost as though they'd predicted he needed_ something_ to balance out the disastrous blabber box which was his mouth – a mouth which just didn't know the right things to say when confronted by a swordsman with a temper equal to that of an incubating male Ostrich.

As it was, only a Klausian could've possessed the lightning quick reflexes to roll off a bed just before a very angry katana came smashing down upon the piece of furniture, and Cliff prudently decided to liberally exercise that rare privilege. The bed uttered a metallic shriek as Albel drove the Crimson Scourge straight through the structure. The razor sharp weapon easily carved through the mattress in an explosion of foam and fluff, and cleanly sliced through the coils at the very bottom. The entire bed sagged as Albel yanked the blade out, deflating into a sad and sorry mess on the floor before crumbling into multiple bolts and shapes. A funnel imprinted with "Product of IKEA" discreetly rolled away from the carnage and was snatched up by one of the company's quality control workers disguised as a pot plant, who gleefully ran off to continue advocating the universal domination of Swedish furniture.

Sword still in hand, Albel whirled upon Cliff who was making himself as inconspicuous as possible behind a mound of dirty laundry. It wasn't the sight of Cliff wearing a lop-sided grin which got Albel's blood boiling to new volcanic heights, though it certainly didn't help things… no, it was the sheer, utter _cluelessness _which STILL pervaded the Klausian's face!

"Are you naturally _stupid_? Or were you dropped on your head as a baby?" Albel hissed, his entire body set at sharp, rigid angles as he rounded on Cliff. The Crimson Scourge flashed with silver fire, though the blade was now pointing in the direction of the floor. Not a bad sign, though Cliff would've felt better if the sword was left out of the picture entirely. Albel's expression was deathly calm as he lowered himself to eye level with the Klausian, his face clearly indicating that he expected no further nonsense and craptacular guesswork. When Albel spoke again, his voice was low but his words smacked of underlying threat.

"Tell me now, "Doctor" maggot. _Who is my heart's desire?"_

Cliff blinked back with his big blue eyes, looking as naïve as a child who had just been caught napping.

That did it.

"_It's FAYT! **FAYT LEINGOD!** F-A-Y-T L-E-…_" Albel faltered in his tantrum as he realised he didn't even know how to spell that blasted last name. Then he shook himself out of it, feeling the pent up rage bursting to the surface which almost exploded out of his eyes in the form of sparks. "A-A-ANYWAY YOU HEAR THAT YOU STUPID LUMP OF C-GRADE BEEF? IT'S FAYT! _I LOVE FAYT!_ **GET IT?"**

Cliff nodded vigorously with a big toothy grin, but Albel seemed to have sprained his brain stem or something since he was on the verge of frothing at the mouth. The irate swordsman leapt back, pummeling the wall of the room with the butt of the Crimson Scourge. "HEAR THAT, INVISIBLE MAGGOT? I LOVE FAYT!" Another muffled "Fuck off!" greeted this proclamation, but by that time Albel had already made it to the dented door and swept it open, sticking his deranged head into the hallway. "WHOOPTEE DOO DIPLO! I LOVE FAYT!"

An innocent window cleaner with a curly moustache jumped in surprise and curiously peered at Albel's panting face. Albel, suddenly snapping out of his berserk mode, glared back with heat equivalent to that of a thousand suns shining from behind his eyeballs. _"Beat it!"_ he roared. The cleaner squeaked and fled in a cloud of brushes and Eezy-Squeezy solution.

"Yo Albel, _chill!"_ Cliff intoned somewhere behind the hyperventilating swordsman, reaching out with one hand to clamp down on Albel's shoulder. He steered the red-faced man back into the room, shutting the door firmly but not before letting the Crimson Scourge hop back inside after it had fallen from Albel's grasp.

"Damn it…" Albel groaned, feeling the last dregs of his spent fury seep from his overly tight muscles. The old despair was already settling back into his stomach, negating any remaining resistance he may have put up against Cliff's invasion of his personal body space. Hence he let himself be led by the shoulder like a child, and Cliff thoughtfully swept aside a pile of leather pants which occupied the only chair in the room before plonking Albel onto it.

The Crimson Scourge hopped over to the chair, its metal finish winking merrily in the artificial light. _>>Faint of heart ne'er won over fair maiden… er… I mean fair lad. Feeling the pressure already, oh Wicked One?>> _

"I thought he could help me," Albel muttered under his breath, his eyes hooded.

_ >>Tsk.>> _The Crimson Scourge sounded sympathetic for once, taking in the uncharacteristically miserable face of Albel Nox and sensing the emotional turmoil swirling inside his abdomen. The Crimson Scourge hadn't been in Albel's possession for very long, so the sword was still mostly relying on Albel's memories to discern everything there was to know about this "Fayt" fellow. One thing was for sure – those memories were constantly wreathed in yellow light and warmth. They were the only gentle aspects of Albel's mental makeup actually, sitting apart from the oily black trauma and sickly green self-loathing which also vied for space in Albel's head. The Crimson Scourge approved, grateful that there was at least one soul out there among the hordes who could have such a healing effect on his troubled young master. The problem of course was getting the affection to run in a two-way direction, otherwise what would be the point?

_>>Cheer up. At least hear the big oaf out. He hasn't even told you what he's got in mind, and you'll be no worse off if what he says doesn't meet your approval.>> _There was logic in that train of thought and Albel felt himself gravitate towards it. Reason was something he hadn't heard for a long while. _>> Don't forget either – you're my Chosen. I'll do the best I can to help you win this "Fayt's" heart…though of course I reserve the right to "discipline" you whenever it's called for.>> _

Albel couldn't help but smirk a little at that, already starting to look a little like his old self. "Thanks…"

_ >>But hush now, the oaf doth speak.>> _The Crimson Scourge twitched in the direction of Cliff, who had previously been rummaging in a filing cabinet but was now returning with a dossier in hand. Albel eyed it warily, but when Cliff flipped it open Albel's eyes widened in surprise. "How did you get that?"

Admittedly, it wasn't the most flattering photo of Fayt Leingod. It was apparent that the person armed with the camera at the time had chosen a bad time to snap the blue-haired boy, who appeared to be engaged in an intense debate with someone and so was totally oblivious to the presence of the viewfinder. As a result, Fayt's arms were bent like scrawny chicken wings, his eyes were only half open which gave him the appearance of the living dead and his lips were lopsided, as though one half of his mouth had been numbed by a dentist's needle. Fayt looked absolutely beautiful to Albel no matter what pose he adopted, but Albel couldn't help suspecting that Cliff had been holding onto the photo for possible blackmail purposes.

"Elementary Ms. Watson," Cliff replied with a wink, "I've got files on everyone! Part of my job as head of Diplo crew, ain't that handy? But back to business…" He tapped the photo with one large finger. "Here's the target, as you er… so loudly confirmed. What do you want me to help you do?"

Albel felt his pale cheeks flushing again as he suddenly grew aware of his vulnerable position. The gall of it… Albel the Wicked admitting he needed _help!_ His automatic reaction was to defend his pride by telling Cliff to shove it, buuuut… after all, he hadn't been doing too well acting on his own devices. The past week had been proof enough of that, with Fayt getting no closer to knowing of Albel's underlying affections, unless Albel's decision to start calling Fayt a "fool" as opposed to the less aesthetic "maggot" counted for anything. That was hardly much to write home about. Worse still, Albel knew he'd never live down the lecturing the Crimson Scourge would give him if he backed out now. _That _was definitely the worst prospect.

Two options hovered on teetering scales in Albel's head - live out the single life with only a bitchy magic sword as company, or snag the embodiment of Destruction for a yaoi-tastic happy ending. Bitchy sword or Fayt? Bitchy sword… _or Fayt? _

_Gee, I wonder. _

Swallowing hard, Albel eventually forced out a response. "I… I want Fayt to know how I feel," he mumbled quickly, his cheeks flaming. The Crimson Scourge seemed delighted at the confession though, since it did a little twirl right there on the spot. Even Cliff couldn't hide a twinkle in his eye as he snapped the dossier shut.

"Sure, that should be easy enough!" Cliff said confidently, punching the air enthusiastically. Albel raised his lowered chin, looking at the exuberant Klausian incredulously. He made it sound so simple that Albel couldn't help but feel the first stirrings of paranoia. "Really?"

"Whaaaat! You don't trust my totally cool matchmaking skills? I'll have you know I've _never _let down any of my charges!" Cliff said obstinately, wagging one finger in front of Albel's nose. ("Mainly because you're my first client…" he added under his breath, but nobody had to know that.) "Leave it to me – with the CLIFF FITTIR FOUR-STEP GUIDE TO LURVE, you'll get your man in no time!"

Albel _wanted _to feel convinced. Honest. But years spent on the battlefield had honed his sixth sense to near perfection, and he'd grown accustomed to listening to it. Alarm bells were ringing in his head at that very moment even as Cliff's grin refused to waver, but it was far too late to chicken out now. With an audible sigh of defeat, Albel rolled his crimson eyes skyward and palmed his face. "Fine. What do I have to do then?" he asked, sounding pained.

"Four steps, just like I mentioned," Cliff said importantly, waving four digits to drive his point home. "But from here on in this'll be a low key affair. No more meetings like this, okay? I'll leave you all the instructions you'll need under your door, starting from tomorrow. And take the photo as a complementary prezzie!" Cliff handed it over before gesturing towards the door and Albel stood up thankfully, incredibly relieved that the torture was now at an end. The Crimson Scourge shook itself awake and hopped after him like a faithful puppy.

"Gee, you should really get a leash for that thing. Haw haw haw!" Cliff chortled indiscreetly as he took in the strange sight. The Klausian was obviously not only slow on the uptake, but subconsciously suicidal as well. Albel rolled his eyes again as he slid the door open and stepped into the cool corridor, counting the seconds down under his breath. Right on cue, Cliff's voice erupted behind him in the form of an outraged bellow. "HEY! Ow! Ow! **OW!** YO! Call off your pet sword, Nox! **NOOOOX!"**

"Don't hurt him too much. He still has a job to do, remember?" Albel reminded the Crimson Scourge in a bored voice, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the sword to finish exacting vengeance.

_ >>This ape heals fast. Just let me make him bleed a bit.>> _

Several crashes and thumps drowned out anything else Albel planned to say and he managed a small wince of sympathy – getting a hilt-beating was _so _not fun, but then again, being compared to a pet when you were the oldest and most revered artifact in the better part of the continent of Gaitt was hardly flattering either…

Blotting out the noise and unmanly screeches of protest, Albel opened his closed fist and stared wistfully at the glossy photo which was nestled inside his palm. Years of self-imposed isolation had passed by as fleetingly as the seasons, each year barely distinct from the last only to be eventually swallowed by the demands of war… it had taken a literal falling star to break the monotony. Albel smiled to himself as he remembered the force of the space ship's impact which had set the stoic walls of the castle trembling on their foundations, and the cries of the townspeople that had reached his ears even from where he'd been stationed on a lofty parapet. He'd scoffed at the mention of heavenly missionaries and later sneered at the rumours of fallen Gods. But now, flying through the stars, overrun with a maelstrom of foreign emotions and besotted with visions of blue hair and green eyes, suddenly he wasn't too sure about his stance on faith… higher powers… on _fate_.

"This… had _better_ work," Albel muttered in near prayer, his slender fingers closing protectively around the photo. Maybe a good night's rest would chase away the rest of his lingering doubts…

--------------------------------------------

Okay… that was weird, even for me. Oo :Snorts: XD

Next chapter: "Sweet dreams are made of these" – a brief interlude is called for as the nutcase author takes you into Albel's head the only way any rabid AlbelxFayt fan knows how… :3


	3. Sweet dreams are made of these

Welcome again dear readers, it's time for a spaced out interlude! XD The following might look familiar to those of you who know me on DA, but I can't help it – I just can't let go of the theme! XD XD But enough of that, let's get on with the show – oh and by the way Summoner-of-the-silver-wolf: you just gave me a most excellent idea, gracias darl!

--------------------------------------------

**CHAPTER 2/ Sweet dreams are made of these:**

Albel opened his eyes with a start, surprised to find himself surrounded on all four sides by blackness which matched the colour of fresh pitch. "Lights out" time on the _Diplo_ never gave rise to such overly thick darkness, and Albel was immediately suspicious. He experimentally waved a hand in front of his face, unnerved that he could see nothing of it. Even as he made that discovery though, he suddenly became aware that he was lying on a surface which was hard, uncomfortable and cold. It felt like a solid stone floor, of all things. He screwed his face up in confusion. Where had his comfy bed with the cool Buzz Lightyear quilt gone? Actually, screw the damn bed! Where was the _Diplo? _This certainly didn't look like Kansas anymore, if you know what I mean.

Albel slowly pushed himself off the floor, clambering gracefully to his feet. There was a yawning, cavernous feel to the air around him, as though he had woken in a massive chamber of some sort. This was confirmed as he took a few steps in a random direction. The sound of his own footsteps bounced back into his ears and ricocheted off unseen walls that sounded far away and _very _high above his head. As the echoes died away, silence slipped underfoot once more. The silence was so powerful that Albel could feel his ears ringing with the strain of trying to pick up on the most miniscule sound… and yet it wasn't as disconcerting as it should've been. On the contrary, there was an anticipatory aura about the quietude as opposed to something sinister. What was going on?

His curiosity now roused, Albel continued walking in the same direction with both arm and gauntlet stretched before him, trying to probe the darkness for contact with anything out of the ordinary. At first he was rewarded with nothing but the sound of his own feet ringing against stone, but after about twenty paces Albel finally felt his fingers graze against something large and solid. The texture was grainy but it wasn't rock. Further inspection alerted him to the flat plane of the object and its unusual smoothness, which felt like hard varnish. Polished wood, Albel guessed. But was it a wall or something else?

His wandering hand suddenly brushed against an object jutting out of the wood and he curled his fingers around this new discovery. It was cold metal, sucking the warmth out of his joints and fingertips, and as Albel applied pressure to it, a loud click shattered the silence. He winced at the noise – that had sounded louder than a fart in a Cathedral, and if his original hunch had been wrong and there _were _unseen threats in the darkness… well, Albel figured his best bet would be hoping that monsters would find him way too attractive to mar with their digestive juices. The odds weren't too bad, actually.

Nothing happened though, and Albel decided to hurry up and get somewhere before his good luck ran out. His hand was still wrapped around the metal object and he pushed against it, realising with sudden clsrity that the click had been the sound of a lock turning, and that he currently stood before a door. The wood was heavy and stiff, and Albel was forced to lean his whole weight against the door before he finally felt it give in and slowly swing outwards…

**FLASH!**

"Start the music! That was the _cue!"_

"Smile! Oh, the camera _loves_ you baby…"

"Flower girl! Get your two ton ass moving already!"

"I ate the top of the cake. I'm awfully sorry. It was talking to me and I had to because the voices tell me things and if I don't listen then I feel like burning small animals and -"

Albel blinked, gaped and froze. Not necessarily in that order, and also not necessarily done in succession but one thing was certain – Albel's impression of a landed fish had instantaneously made him front runner in the Elicoorian Grammy category of _"Totally gobsmacked". _

The darkness had completely melted away, replaced instead with an overload of pastel reds and pinks which sprinkled and waved through the air in the form of confetti and trailing ribbons. Honeysuckle and Gardenias exploded from the top of creamy pillars which lined the edges of a velvet red carpet, the colour rich as freshly spilt blood. A thick, warm haze seemed to suspend everything in golden syrupy status while high above, the silhouettes of white doves chased delicate wisps of cloud in a deep blue basin of the sky.

Though dazed and confused, Albel shoved his way through the frantic crowd of people scattered across the sprawling green lawns and looked on the verge of saying something. But all words were knocked out of his mouth as he took in the sight of Cliff Fittir bounding in his direction.

It looked like Cliff. It probably sounded like Cliff, and maybe it smelled like Cliff though of course, Albel was willing to assume the latter without seeking nose-on confirmation. What _didn't _look right was the lacy pink tutu. Complete with flimsy shoulder straps. And colour coordinated knickerbockers, as Albel unfortunately found out as Cliff? the stunt double? the drug induced hallucination? bounced a _little_ too high. Whatever it was, it landed right in front of him, brandishing a wicker basket full to the brim with fragrant pink and red rose petals while grinning its disturbing face off.

"_Cliff?"_ Albel croaked, fighting the urge to pass out before he got some concrete answers.

"Mm hmm….?" The-thing-we'll-assume-is-Cliff-for-the-time-being hummed, batting overly long eyelashes sprinkled with pink and silver glitter.

"What. Are. You. DOING?" Albel hissed forcefully as a violent twitch erupted above one of his eyebrows.

"I'm the flower girl. Don't you remember?" The-thing-we'll-assume-is-Cliff-for-the-time-being pouted a bit, petulantly blowing at a dangling strand of blonde hair. "I _ever_ so wanted the job and I begged and begged until you gave in because no one else I know was getting married and -"

"Did you say **_getting __married_?"** Albel spluttered. The-thing-we'll-assume-is-Cliff-for-the-time-being blinked, not understanding Albel's confusion, which compelled the panicking swordsman to snatch its shoulders in a vice-like grip. "_Me?_ Hitched? _SINCE WHEN?"_

"Homina homina homina…" The-thing-we'll-assume-is-Cliff-for-the-time-being could only utter, its teeth chattering as Albel shook the living daylights out of it while rose petals flew up in the space between them. _What the hell was going on here?_

"Albel…!"

Albel froze for the second time in three minutes, though in his shock, he thankfully released the-thing-we'll-assume-is-Cliff-for-the-time-  
being before it sustained brain damage. (Or rather, _more _brain damage than what was already ailing it.) It collapsed onto the ground with a loud "PLONK", its tutu skirt and unshaved legs flying ungainly over its head. Several unfortunate birds plummeted to the ground in the form of flaming wreckage after copping too much of an eyeful.

"You were taking so long to walk down… so I decided to come to you!" Fayt laughed, his easy stride giving him the appearance of swimming elegantly up the length of red carpet. He turned his green gaze upon the-thing-we'll-assume-is-Cliff-for-the-time-being, whose limbs were twitching sporadically underneath the frilly tutu. "Cliffita, you don't look so good…"

The-thing-we-shall-now-know-as-Cliffita frowned in concentration, trying to compute that simple sentence in time to formulate a reply. Sadly, the brain cells it possessed had already been limited in number before Albel inconsiderately shook the rest into protoplasm mush, and it was now running off a singular brain cell generator. As a result, six word sentences were totally out of the league of the-thing-we-shall-now-know-as-Cliffita. Its eyes rolled back into their sockets as it blacked out from the information overload.

Fayt shrugged, directing a teasing smile in Albel's direction. "Why are you tormenting the flower girl? You're the one that asked Cliffita to help you, remember?"

"Glub," was all Albel was able to respond with, his eyeballs nearly imploding from the pressure being created by his dilated pupils as he hungrily dragged them up and down Fayt's body. Gone were the infernally complicated bits of Megaman leg armour and modest white vest… and in with a flattering black tux, cut _just so_ to accentuate Fayt's naturally narrow hips and to flow smoothly down the rest of his slender form like woven night. Albel swallowed back a puddle of drool as Fayt casually shook some of his wayward fringe out of his bottomless green eyes, his shock of bright blue hair creating a marked contrast against the darkness of his outfit…

Uh oh. Reality check time. Or in other words, "Stop with the perving coz I just realised something!" The words were conveniently lowered from the sky in the form of a billboard, each letter surrounded by a lightbulb flashing an urgent red which illuminated Albel with a bright pink aura.

"We're… getting married?" Albel double-checked, his words pronounced painstakingly slow as he inwardly cringed at how _unfeasible_ they sounded.

"That's right," Fayt said smilingly.

"And you're in a tux," Albel continued.

"Uh huh," Fayt replied, flicking some lint off of the front of his coat.

"So you're the groom," Albel reasoned.

"Yep," Fayt nodded.

"Which means I'm the… the…" Albel trailed off, not even needing to finish his sentence as he looked down at the threads he'd been sporting the whole embarrassing while.

He had to admit that even though the dress was pretty close-fitting, satin inlaid with French lace and seed pearls was rather soft and comfortable. He'd never felt so incredibly… _ventilated_. Though that might have had something to do with how high the front of the dress was riding up, showcasing an exceedingly generous display of Albel's pins encased in ivory thigh-high heels. (Several birds that had survived the previous tutu trauma crash-bombed at the sight, each sporting a hefty nosebleed). Glancing over one shoulder, Albel noted the impossibly long train and gauzy veil which spilt down his back, both of which rustled noisily with even the most minor movements of his body. Pretty nifty, he had to admit…

WaitwaitwaitwaitWAIT what was he thinking? COMFORTABLE? NIFTY? Who gave a flying fudge about that when _**Albel the Wicked was in a dress!** _

Okaaaaay… now there was hell to pay.

Demonstrating extraordinary serenity, Albel gently maneuvered Fayt to one side, meeting Fayt's questioning eyes with his own. To Albel's credit, he at least attempted to look calm despite the rising fury starting to bubble in his stomach. "Er… excuse me a moment. Please?"

Fayt blinked a few times before blessing Albel with a brilliant smile. "Of course!"

Albel managed a weak grin before turning and swishing off the red carpet, almost tripping over his cumbersome heels in his haste to find somewhere to hide. The door he'd emerged from formed part of a massive building which appeared to be a chapel of some sort, and Albel chose to duck behind one of its corners. Now he could barely hear the bustle of the ceremony and the milling of the people involved, leaving him the necessary privacy to make a _very_ important long-distance call. Planting his hands on his shimmering hips, Albel composed himself and drew a long breath.

"_CRIMSON SCOURGE!"_

There was no response at first but Albel was prepared to yell all day if necessary. Just as he was preparing to repeat himself, a familiar looking shape materialised in the distance, closing the space between itself and Albel with little hops and bounds.

_>>You called…?>> _

Albel regarded the Crimson Scourge with flat eyes. "Who gave you the bow?"

The sword was sporting a big curly bow around its hilt in a blinding shade of pink, and it waggled itself proudly. _>>__I think it fits the occasion quite nicely!>> _

"No, it doesn't. It makes you look like a freaking Maypole," Albel said, clearly unimpressed. Before the Crimson Scourge could retort, his eyes hardened as he cut straight to the chase.

"You…" he pronounced harshly with a finger raised in an accusing point, "… have _THE _worst taste in dreams!"

The Crimson Scourge performed a little pirouette, sending the ends of its pink bow twirling around the length of its narrow blade in a pretty spiral pattern. >>_Conclusion jumper. What made you think I had anything to do with this__ dream? After all, I'm not the one mooning over Fayt, so it's all in your own head oh Wicked One.>> _

"Because I also happen to know you have a _sick sense of humour!"_ Albel growled, snatching up the white train of his dress and snapping it at the Crimson Scourge like an overgrown whip. The sword jumped out of range, wobbling precariously for a few moments before it righted itself. Its mind voice sniffed a bit, but the sword sounded far from apologetic.

_>>Well, I didn't think you'd mind. Strutting around in that racy skirt for years on end… who in their right mind would think you had any__ aversion to dresses? They're just full-piece variations of the skirt theme, you know.>> _

"It's not a_ skirt._ It's a loincloth!"

_>>Ohhhh? Are you sure it's not a kilt?>> _

"IT'S NOT A –" Albel caught himself just in time, refusing to rise to the Crimson Scourge's distracting bait. Doing his best to forget about the unanswered jibe, he yanked his focus back to the original subject.

"Why this sort of dream? You've outdone yourself this time, you insufferable stick. You must be up to something," Albel snarled, his eyes narrowing to little points.

_>>Me, plot against you? Surely you jest.>> _The Crimson Scourge said smoothly. >>_Dreams are whatever a dreamer makes them out to be, a visual and sensory plea from their innermost core of self. Whatever you lack, whatever you yearn for and whatever you wish to be… the deeper answers are always there in the dream threads, though not always easily seen.>>  
_

Albel listened in cagey silence, hearing the Crimson Scourge sigh in his head out of pure exasperation. _>>Look at it this way – stop ignoring yourself for once. Your head and heart have been trying to tell you something for over a week and it's high time you stopped and listened. Not all answers belong in the tangible world, you know. Get a little spiritual.>> _

"Bah," Albel muttered, obviously not entirely convinced. "I've had weird dreams all week. What makes this one different from the rest?"

_>>Well, you tell me!>> _The Crimson Scourge prodded, its mind voice encouraging. _>>What's been happening in the dream so far? I missed most of it.>> _

"Marriage. Obviously," Albel snapped, glancing at his bridal gown.

_ >>To whom?>> _The Crimson Scourge knew the answer of course, but it found the entire situation a never ending source of amusement and was milking it for all it was worth. Albel gritted his teeth, determined to keep as much of his dignity as possible. "That… should be obvious!"

_ >>Indeed.>> _The Crimson Scourge said lightly. _>>But yes, marriage…a significant occasion, and one peppered with ample delicious symbolism. So tell me oh Wicked One. Why would two individuals wish to marry?>> _

Albel's cheeks flushed red, already not liking where the conversation was going. He was the first to admit that he was hopeless at discussing this sort of stuff, much preferring to debate over the delicate subtleties of shade in the entrails of Porcupines and Dire Wolves.

_>>I have an infinite amount of time at my disposal. I'll wait as long as I need for an answer.>> _

"Damn it…" Albel growled, expelling a noisy breath. He looked up at the fake blue sky with put-out eyes as he bit out his reply. "Because they're in love. They want to commit."

_ >>Correct.>> _The Crimson Scourge agreed. _ >>But the strata of love and commitment are numerous and not always clear. The layers run deep through the heart and mind, anchoring roots in reasons which aren't often acknowledged, yet are constantly played out on the surface. One of these unseen reasons is an acceptance of change. It is an acceptance by two people that symbolic union between them will alter their lives for better or for worse. Can you see what I'm trying to get at?>> _

"Maybe," Albel said shortly, his face neutral.

_>>Read between the lines! Love changes everything. Are you not familiar with the adage?>> _The Crimson Scourge said chidingly. _ >>I'm far from blind, so there's no hiding yourself from me. Therefore, the transition that's been working its way through you over the week has been astounding, to say the least. Scowl and yell about it all you want, but you already committed yourself to a course of change today when you fessed up to that blonde buffoon.>> _

Dang and blast the infernal sword for being so perceptive all the time! Albel felt like kicking the chapel wall but this was a dream after all, so there was always the risk that the wall would wind up being made of runny jelly or something else less than solid. Thinking in abstract terms like "love" and "transition" made his head hurt, which was partially why he'd failed to crystallise the foreign emotions within into something he could comprehend. Another telling reason was that those emotions seemed interlaced with all things he considered weak in life – dependency and affection, most of all. Bah, the absurdity of it all… to be reduced to goo at a friendly word or fleeting glance, and even willing to converse with the most inane blond-headed apes in the galaxy just for a sporting chance to be with someone!

The old Albel Nox would've had no troubles whatsoever. He was so accustomed to shoving human sentiment aside, that at the first signs of it on his own person, he would've jumped straight into Airyglyph's iciest lake to set himself straight. Things used to be so incredibly simple when he had only viewed the world in simple shades of black, grey and white. After all, in the past there had been no commitments and no human ties to bind. Intimacy and friendship had been laughable ideals during the course of war, harboured only by unrealistic fools who still had faith that human compassion would win any day over swords, cannons and sheer ruthlessness.

_>>There you go again, feeling all angsty. Sheesh.>> _The Crimson Scourge grumbled, poring over the string of thoughts which had just flashed through Albel's head. _>>Sure, all living things are forced to survive each day as it comes, but there's no shame in relying on friends or a lover to make the challenge easier. I'll call anyone an idiot if they think that a solitary life is proof of worth!>> _

"It's not that," Albel said snippily, even though he knew he was half lying. With his early loss of both parents, seizing control of his own destiny and independence had been an almost fanatical affair, done to salvage some of his shredded pride in the eyes of his peers and superiors. That was the least of his concerns at the moment though. His normally smooth brow furrowed as he pondered over how to phrase his new fears, and even the Crimson Scourge leaned in a little closer.

"It's just that I've never had… I mean, there's never been…" Albel verbally fumbled, his fingers fidgeting with the edges of his veil which brushed against his right cheek.

The Crimson Scourge twigged on and guffawed. _>>Never had an apple of your eye before, oh Wicked One? What _were _you doing all that while before I chose you?>> _The sword wasn't expecting an answer though and kept right on going. >>_Don't freak out so prematurely. It's all part of the transition process, so just treat the whole experience as a lesson… though I predict that it'll be a lot harder living for another person as well as for yourself. Thinking for two has never been your specialty.>>  
_

"That's what I'm worried about," Albel grudgingly admitted. "Things were easier when I didn't give a rat's ass what Fayt thought about me. And… and how will I know what to do and say? What if he thinks I'm an _idiot?_ What if-"

_ >>How sweetly insecure you are! It's really quite endearing.>> _The Crimson Scourge's mind voice was coloured with yellow laughter instead of its usual bite, and Albel shut his mouth in surprise. >>_Yes, I think I quite like this new Albel Nox. He's not too proud to ask for help, he's ready to commit to change in the name of love, and is considerate of the feelings of others… oh, and he looks quite spunky in a dress.>> _

"Go piss up a mast," Albel said diplomatically.

_ >>And still as touchy as ever, but some things just can't be helped.>> _The Crimson Scourge said drily. _>>Seriously though, try not to worry so much. You humans always manage to find the right words to say in situations like these, and from what I can tell anyway, Fayt's a nice guy. Quite the sweetie actually. Oh and with one heck of a can, according to your thoughts…>> _

"HEY! Stay the hell out of my head!" Albel snarled, rising color staining his cheeks as he hitched up his dress to aim a kick at his infuriating sword. For Pete's sake, did the Crimson Scourge _always _have tomake him feel like a window with the curtains spread wide? It nimbly darted away before one of Albel's killer heels knocked it out of shape, neither denying nor confirming its prying but continuing to talk, unperturbed.

_>>… so I'm sure the dear boy will take any of your advances with good grace. And don't forget to put a measure of faith in that blonde ape. He's been around, even if he's a muscle-bound dork.>> _

"Hmph," Albel snorted, his stomach giving a little nervous twist as he envisioned Cliff's undoubtedly warped ideas of successful matchmaking. Suddenly, that train of thought reminded him of something which struck him as odd. "You said that you weren't totally responsible for this dream, right?"

_>>For the most part, yes.>> _

"Apart from the… dress."

_>>Guilty as charged.>> _

"Then where the HELL did 'Cliffita' come from?"

The Crimson Scourge's polished blade winked evilly as it sniggered. _>>THAT part was me.>> _

Albel was just about to launch into lengthy discourse to describe what a perverted sicko his sword was proving to be, when he was stopped in his tirade by a light touch on the shoulder. Whirling around in a flurry of white satin and veil, Albel jumped in surprise as his startled face rose up to meet Fayt's sparkling green orbs.

"Glub," Albel choked again.

"You were taking a while, and I was getting worried. Everything okay?" Fayt queried, raising one hand to lightly comb through Albel's deep brown bangs. As those finely tapered fingers traveled south to trace the high curve of his cheekbones, Albel felt all of his coherent thoughts being wiped clean from the slate of his mind, eagerly leaning into the strong but loving touch. Alright, fine… this was all a dream but _gee whillickers _it was a pretty good one for once! Except for the dress bit and Cliffita of course, but at the moment Albel was even willing to overlook those evils…

_ >>For crying out loud. Is that the most intelligent thing you can think of to say? You're not a fish!>> _The Crimson Scourge butted in witheringly. _>>If that's what you're going to do in real life then you'll need more than that blonde ape's help, that's for sure. You'll need a freaking DICTIONARY.>> _

"Cram it with walnuts. I'm _busy!"_ Albel hissed behind his shoulder as he encircled Fayt's lithe waist with the wide breadth of his hands, pulling him nearer. This close, he was able to pick up on the young man's fast intake of breath at the unexpected motion, but the surprise quickly faded as Fayt quickly caught on and slid both arms around Albel's uncovered shoulders. The two of them said nothing, choosing instead to gaze intently into each others' eyes where they were able to see their own reflections mirrored back in shades of green and red.

_>>Yoohoo… Aaaaalbel. This isn't real. Get over it.>> _

Albel furiously ignored the Crimson Scourge, too caught up in the warm buzz which was melting his brains into cotton candy on account of Fayt's pheromones, which were relentlessly assaulting his senses. Holy heck, this was the most realistic dream he'd had to date… and the longer he held that liquid emerald stare, the harder it was to prevent himself seizing up with longing. By "longing", Albel knew that included physical desire, but also a yearning to have Fayt look at him with a similar loving gaze in the real world where it mattered the most. This scenario was a _more_ than acceptable substitute for reality though. Albel licked his lips nervously as Fayt's mouth parted slightly, the boy's pink lips glistening invitingly and looking oh so incredibly kissable. With eyes still firmly locked, their faces started to gradually drift towards each other, closing the short distance between them. They were so close now that with each shaky inhalation, they unwittingly breathed the other unto themselves… and closer still they drew to each other, until Albel could already anticipate the moist softness of Fayt's welcoming lips pushing sensually up against his own…

_SSSCCCHHHHT!_

"Wha…?" Fayt gasped, stumbling backwards.

"'The hell…!" Albel yelled at the same time.

The two of them were forced to unceremoniously break apart as a spinning pillar of steel suddenly erupted through the tiny space left between them, sending bits of earth and pink ribbon flying. Albel could only gape, seeing his own shocked expression swimming in the gleaming surface of the Crimson Scourge's blade.

_>>That's enough boys, this dream is over. It's only chapter three – what made you think you could kiss NOW?>> _

"**NO!** _Wait!"_ Albel yelped desperately, lunging forward to knock the Crimson Scourge out of mid-air, but instead he found himself collapsing face-first in a messy heap of tangled blankets and deflated pillows. Blue sky and pink confetti still strayed across his bleary vision, so it took a little while before the steady hum of the _Diplo_'s air vents and the stuffy darkness of his quiet living quarters chased away the honeyed afterglow of that dream to end all dreams…

Albel slowly sat up, blinking his gritty eyes but feeling fully awake now, thank you very much Crimson Scourge. His bedside clock displayed the numbers "4:38" in luminous green light, and Albel felt his stomach tighten – green, reminding him so strongly of Fayt's expressive eyes. His fingers itched, still imagining the coarse feel of that black tux along his skin and he almost fancied that he could recall Fayt's alluring scent.

In the grey darkness, Albel could just discern the metallic length of the Crimson Scourge resting in its doggie basket at the foot of his bed but when he tested their telepathic connection, no snoring resounded down his mental channel. The damn sword was playing Possum! The _audacity _of the blasted thing, after scheming perverted things like cross dressing and Cliffita and denying millions of fan girls a steamy AlbelxFayt smooch!

That was Albel's cue to to curl his lips in a silent snarl, and he lunged for the sword amid the crazy squealing of his mattress and the swirls created by his upset sheets.

"_Why you little…!" _He bellowed, snatching the Crimson Scourge by the hilt and throttling it as hard as he could. The sword squeaked ungracefully and started to struggle, swinging back and forth like a pendulum, and the powerful momentum was enough to tip Albel off balance so that he toppled off the side of the bed. His fingers were like a manacle around the Crimson Scourge though, and the two of them crashed upon the homey hand crafted rug which Mirage had thoughtfully provided to decorate Albel's sparse room.

_>>Geroff me you twit! It was just a dream!>> _The Crimson Scourge hollered, managing to land a few bonks on Albel's head with its pommel before he got a better grip on it.

"Yeah? Then why the need to cut it short?" Albel rasped in between pommel bonks. "Things were going JUST FINE before you had to stick your blade where it didn't belong!"

_>>Oh yes, it's just SO incredibly healthy to make out with dream people…>> _The Crimson Scourge snapped sarcastically, squirming uselessly as Albel pinned it down on the floor with the weight of his body. >>_If you were only that productive with the real thing, there wouldn't BE any problems! And GET OFF already. You're stabbing me!>>_

"Stabbing you with what? I'm unarmed!" Albel sneered.

The Crimson Scourge paused, thinking of the most delicate way of phrasing its answer. _ >>Like I said… it's not a very good idea to make out in dreams…>> _

Albel frowned in confusion, still not fully comprehending. The Crimson Scourge wisely held its tongue as it waited for understanding to dawn on its young master, though it hoped Albel realised what it meant before anything… er… _vital _accidentally got cut on the edge of its blade.

"Shit," Albel suddenly blurted out, his face blanching.

The Crimson Scourge sighed. _>>Cold shower, pronto. And don't be stingy with the water please.>> _

It didn't need to tell Albel twice, who had already sprung to his feet and was charging into the en suite bathroom like a madman. The Crimson Scourge winced as the walls shook with the force Albel used to slam the door shut, but the vibrations were quickly drowned out by the roar of water turned to full blast and the ear shattering "YAAAAAAAGHHHHH!" that followed as Albel dunked himself under the icy spray...

--------------------------------------------

Symbolism symbolism…! How much did you guys pick up on? XD Here's a dissection of things which appeared in that whacked-out dream:

**Wedding** – dreaming of weddings signifies big changes in the dreamer's life and a willingness to commit to something, as the Crimson Scourge pointed out. So there we go, I wasn't just being a perverted fangirl! XD

**Camera** (mentioned briefly) – represents a need to focus on a situation to get a clearer picture.

**Cake** (also mentioned briefly) – represents a need to learn how to allocate workload instead of doing everything yourself ie. let's ask Cliff for help. :D

**Doves** – Symbolises friendships and letting go of thoughts of hate and revenge. :)

**The colours red and pink** (the confetti and rose petals) – Symbolises passion, sensitivity to emotional relationships, tenderness and love. Also signifies interesting developments in relationships. :Wink wink nudge nudge:

**Honeysuckle **– I included these to represent Fayt. The flower name translates to "Sweetness of disposition". (Awwwww!)

**Gardenias **– Thrown in to represent Albel. The flower name translates to "I love you in secret". :LOL:

**And last of all, dreaming of cliffs **XD XD XD – indicates arrival to an increased level of understanding, and a critical turning point in life where one fears losing control. (Perfect or what.) XD

--------------------------------------------

Next chapter – "Step #1: Cook for your lover". Let the program of luuuuurrrrve commence, 'nuff said!


	4. Step 1: Cook for your lover pt 1

Salutations and Christmas greetings everyone! I'm sorry that it took a little longer than usual to get this chapter ready – I lost my sense of humour somewhere in the middle due to life getting a little crazy, and then the chapter decided to run away from me and turn into something totally different from what I was planning… :Insert :shakefist: emoticon here: As a result, this is technically a preliminary chapter to the first program step with no cooking as of yet, but rest assured I'll do my best to massacre a recipe in the next chapter with Albel's help. XD

I found this chapter to be less funny than the others as well, so forgive me. :( The serious bit at the end came out of nowhere… Oo

And Summoner of the Silver Wolf: this meaning of war was taken from Dream Moods Dictionary, which you can find by Googling the name: _"To dream of a war, signifies disorder and chaos in your personal affairs. You also be experiencing some internal conflict or emotional struggle. You are feeling torn between aspects of yourself. Perhaps the dream may indicate that you are being overly aggressive or you are not being assertive enough." _Hope it helped. :)

**SHAMELESS PLUG: **The weird auto formatting of this site prevents me from pasting a direct link, but if you guys have time then you will not regret Googling the following:** "Celtreny deviantART". **Celtreny was kind enough to draw her interpretation of wedding dress Albel from the previous chapter complete with Crimson Scourge, and OH MY GOD you guys have got to see it. XD XD Go to her gallery now! Chop chop!

-----------------------

"**STEP #1: Cook for your lover"**

_Scritch scritch._

Albel jerked his head up at the subtle sound, pausing in his motions of vigorously patting his hair dry. "What was that?"

_ >>What was what?>> _The Crimson Scourge asked, sounding bored as it remained curled up among the cushions of its little doggie basket. The sword had been half-dozing as Albel "beautified" himself, which is how it opted to describe his actions – though Albel of course vehemently classified his early morning ritual as "grooming" – and so had barely been paying attention. Albel let his scratchy towel slip down from his scalp to drape across his shoulders. Dragging a small comb through his tangled mass of damp hair, he kept one ear trained for more unusual sounds.

_Scritch scritch._

"There it goes again. Didn't you hear it?" Albel demanded of the Crimson Scourge, throwing his comb down. Try as he might, he couldn't help recalling the nibbled corn muffin that Cliff had offered him yesterday, which had obviously been recently sampled by creatures of the squeaky, scuttling variety. Asking the idiot for help was one thing, but sharing his rodent infestations was definitely NOT part of the deal. On the other hand, maybe the _Diplo _was the new breeding ground for a neo breed of mutant termites with a taste for metal…

_Scritch scritch BONK._

If it was indeed a mouse, it was probably suffering from a dilapidating disease affecting its motor neurons, judging from the unmistakable sound of a head colliding against the door. If it was a mutant termite though, any insect capable of producing a noise that loud with its head alone was DEFINITELY something to be concerned about. The strangely hollow sound echoed through the room, prompting the Crimson Scourge to suddenly lever itself out of its basket. Albel watched as it hopped over to where he sat on his bed, his keen eyes not failing to catch a mischievous sheen to the Crimson Scourge's blade.

"What are you plotting now?" Albel growled, trying to save precious time by calling its game early.

_>>You suspect too much.>> _The Crimson Scourge said smoothly as it leapt into Albel's free hand. _>>Now be a dear, and push my pointy end under the door.>> _

"I suppose it wouldn't be too much to ask why?" Albel ventured with one eyebrow raised.

_ >>You'll approve this time, I swear!>> _

That wasn't as reassuring as it should've been but Albel shrugged, figuring that as long as the Crimson Scourge was being pointed anywhere BUT him that he could afford to play along. Besides, the strange noises outside the door had resumed in that short space of time and Albel wanted to get up anyway to investigate. He quickly raised himself off the bed and crossed the room to stand before the door, pressing one ear to the cold metal to try and better identify the sound.

_>>Stop wasting time! Push me under!>> _The Crimson Scourge whined, jumping a bit in Albel's closed fist. He frowned in annoyance but if experience had taught him anything, when the Crimson Scourge wanted something done it wanted it done NOW. Otherwise there was the danger that it would take matters into its own hilt and do whatever it wanted by itself.

(Albel still hadn't forgotten the time he'd taken a bath as opposed to giving into the sword's demand for a polish, whereupon it had promptly stolen his clothes to rub itself clean. It _wouldn't_ have been such a problem if the bath house hadn't been an outdoor affair, not to mention right next door to a nun's order made completely out of glass walls. Thank goodness for conveniently placed foliage.)

"Okay okay…" Albel grumbled in defeat, stooping low to inspect the bottom of the door. There was just enough of a gap between it and the floor for the Crimson Scourge's blade to fit through, and without further delay, he shoved the sword under the door in one smooth motion.

"**_YEOW-OW-OW!_** Not you again!"

The yell of surprise was loud and burly, and the scratchy noises outside the door were immediately replaced by a loud THUMP – the sort of sound you'd expect from a big muscle-bound backside connecting with a hard metal floor.

"Cliff. You're up early," Albel said wryly, blocking out the worst of the Crimson Scourge's uproarious cackling which was filling his head like hot air.

"… and so is your sword!" Cliff's voice complained through the metal door. Though shaken but not stirred, the Klausian was already scrabbling back onto his feet.

_>>If he only knew half of it…>> _The Crimson Scourge snickered, unable to resist the dirty connotation.

Albel pointedly ignored the Crimson Scourge, knowing it was too early in the morning to get his blood pressure unnecessarily raised, and directed his next question to the disembodied Cliff. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to open your slot!"

The Crimson Scourge convulsed and nearly had a nosebleed then and there, forcing Albel to level a glare at it, the type he usually reserved for setting small insects on fire. "He meant _MAIL _slot, you… you…"

_>>"Male" slot? Oh I like that!>> _

"… the darn thing is stuck! Are you sure you didn't glue it together or something?"

The Crimson Scourge was almost on the verge of tears of hysteria as its mind voice spluttered incoherently. _ >>O-o-oh I don't know… h-he's always been rather mean and tight up the ar->> _

"SHUT. **_UP."_** Albel roared as enough steam gushed out of his ears to power a small train, though it was hard to tell who he was directing this expletive to. He quickly dragged his attention back to what Cliff had said, drawing natural assumptions. "You've got something to give me. What is it?"

"Step number 1, delivered straight to your door!" Cliff declared with enthusiastic flourish, luckily replying before the Crimson Scourge could interpret more odd and perverse things from the conversation. It was becoming more and more apparent that the Crimson Scourge had absorbed a fair number of fan girl souls in the course of its servitude to Airyglyph.

"Step number 1…? What, you mean of the program?" Albel suddenly recalled as his stomach flip flopped nervously in reaction. "At _this _time? It's five in the morning, you fool!"

"No better time for what you've gotta do," Cliff said cheerfully. "No one will be up for awhile, so the kitchen's totally empty! Cool or what?"

"_Kitchen?"_ Albel repeated with notable alarm.

"Relaaaaax," Cliff chuckled, but if not for the closed door in the way, Albel would've been totally unnerved by the loopy grin which the Klausian was sporting on his face. "If there's one thing chicks totally dig, it's home cooking man. Go ask anyone, they'll tell you!"

"Fayt…" Albel hissed through gritted teeth, "… is _not _a 'chick'!"

"Same difference, who cares?" Cliff said, not skipping a beat. "The fact is, _anyone _would really dig something like that. 'Makes you look more… whatdoyacallit… _doh-mess-tee-kay-tid_."

Albel paused, partly because he still refused to believe any of it and partly because he never knew Cliff was capable of uttering five syllable words… but when he found his voice again, he cursed the note of rising panic which was jarring his protests. _"No! _No way. I've never cooked anything in my life and… and… you expect me to _feed _Fayt? You're insane. You don't know what you're asking. Now rack off and…"

"Hey hey hey, take a chill pill!" Cliff intercepted Albel's babble. "It won't be _that_ hard – I've got a surefire recipe right here, straight from my Aunty Doreen! Can't go wrong with this baby!"

Albel buried his face in his hands, his whole head shaking in silent denial to Cliff's optimism. _COOKING? _The Klausian's brain must be made out of the same rubbish as his so-called PHD! Okay, admittedly what Albel had said wasn't _entirely _true… there had been rare occasions when he'd been forced to prepare quick meals, but that was the crucial keyword – they'd been _quick_. Long marches with troops across vast territories often led to camping out, and one of a Captain's jobs was to put on a show of provider… though with a stab of gloom, Albel figured that what Cliff had in mind was probably entirely different to the type of food preparation which the Black Brigade had come to expect from him. Tossing whole cows into raging bonfires was likely to be met with more than slight disapproval on the _Diplo_…

Meanwhile, Cliff was taking Albel's sudden silence as a good sign as he leisurely rocked back and forth on his heels. "You know, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, or haven't you heard that one? And I happen to know that Fayt's got a _reeeeeal _sweet tooth. Always sneaking candy. You'll win him over in no time if you listen to Aunty Doreen, bless her soul!"

Actually, Albel was feeling less and less inclined to listen to anyone who hailed from Klaus, be it Aunty Doreen, Uncle Billy Bob or Grandpa Jackass, since the whole lot of them were proving to be several crayons short of a full box set. Aiming a swipe at the door with his set of claws, Albel prepared to stalk off. "Forget about it, fool. Fayt will be better off if I stay _out _of any kitchen, so keep your ridiculous schemes to yourself! I'm going back to bed…"

Cliff however had been fully expecting this sort of resistance, and leaned casually against the wall next to the closed door as he delivered his trump card. "Well if that's the way you feel, I s'ppose I could always get… _SOPHIA _to give it a go!"

He stifled a laugh as he detected Albel's bitten-back curse, and kept pressing his advantage. "After all, she's cooked for Fayt _hundreds _of times. I'm sure she wouldn't mind doing it again, 'specially since she's got her eye on him and all. And I've heard she's a pretty darn good cook too, probably waaaaay better than you or that swo-"

_**BANG!**_

Cliff hurriedly leapt backwards as the door suddenly… _disintegrated_ before his very eyes. Well, it didn't actually turn into metal powder, but if a nuclear physicist had been nearby then they'd certainly have heard the door's atoms screeching blue murder. Heck, at least the door managed to raise a dust cloud as it caved in on itself. Either way the door was completely totaled, and all that remained of it were pitiful lumps and shards scattered in the empty hallway.

"Whoa!" Cliff exclaimed. "Mirage is gonna have your ass on a stick – **ACK!"**

A set of five gleaming claws cut through the clearing cloud of dust, snatching Cliff by his collar lapels and dragging him into the breathing space of a _very_ peeved looking swordsman. Cliff grinned weakly as Albel's eyes flashed multiple promises of bodily harm, and he tried not to wrinkle his nose as a puff of Albel's breath invaded his nostrils. Speaking of "doh-mess-tee-kay-shon", Albel was yet to learn the hidden benefits of minty toothpaste when it came to things like courtship.

"Anything that _pink low-life of a maggot_ can do…" Albel snarled as his all patented death glare seared holes straight through Cliff's very thick skull, "… I can do **_BETTER!"_**

Cliff winced a bit as those last words washed over him in the form of an ear-splitting roar, and also because those words were riding on a wave of less than aromatic early morning breath, but he quickly got his composure back. The bait had been set and snapped up more quickly then he'd imagined, and it was more than enough to bring back his loopy grin.

"That's more like it! Them's fighting words!" Cliff whooped wholeheartedly, brandishing a hearty thumbsup. It was a bit harder than normal to pull off the gesture, since Cliff had chosen to use the hand which was holding the recipe and the Crimson Scourge was gnawing at his knuckles to try and get him to release it. Sadly, asking for things politely was just not part of its mental makeup.

"_Give _me that!" Albel snapped just as ungracefully, releasing Cliff to snatch the recipe from where it was impaled on the end of the Crimson Scourge's blade. With one last snort of contempt, the swordsman turned on his heels and commenced a thunderous march down the hallway, venting some of his annoyance by aiming some vicious kicks at a bit of door debris which he kept ahead of him.

Cliff spared Albel's retreating figure the briefest of glances before rubbing his hands together in maniacal glee.

"Now for the other one!"

If Albel had bothered to look behind him, the sight of Cliff happily skipping in the opposite direction would have brought back traumatic flashbacks of a certain flower girl in a certain recent dream, but Cliff didn't give a hoot as to how ridiculous he looked just then. His only concern was the specially manufactured Puffy stink bomb rattling in his pocket – the only object in the entire Eternal Sphere capable of waking Fayt Leingod at such an unholy hour…

-------------------------------------

_>>Huff huff… slow down, you're going too fast! Hey, are you listening…?>> _

The Crimson Scourge may as well have been griping to deaf ears. As a matter of fact it was, if Albel's murderous expression was anything to go by. The Crimson Scourge couldn't help but inwardly wince. Albel hadn't looked so seriously pissed off since the night it had deviously substituted his shampoo for Maria's blue hair dye. Surely the thought of cooking wasn't _that _repulsive?

_>>I said slow DOWN! Look at me when I'm talking to you!>> _The Crimson Scourge raised its mental voice a little higher and cranked its Nag-O-Meter into the extreme "Mother-in-law" red range, but the planes of Albel's back stubbornly remained set in place as he continued stomping through the hallway. He set a cracking pace, and any other magic sword would've fizzled out and been reduced to a new career as a butter knife with the effort of keeping up. That's not to say the Crimson Scourge wasn't feeling the strain, and already its pointy end was feeling considerably less pointy from too much hopping along the solid metal floor.

_>>Hey Albel. I know you can hear me.>> _

The swordsman still refused to stop or turn around. If he had, then the Crimson Scourge would've noticed his frown lines giving a whole new definition to the words "bottomless chasm."

_ >>How long are you going to ignore me?>> _

Albel remained tight-lipped as ever as he forcefully rammed the swinging doors which barred the way into the kitchen of the _Diplo_. The momentum of the doors created a back draft which would've sent more than a few skirts flying – Albel's included, if only he hadn't weighted it down with bricks sewn into the hems after too many fan girl "incidents". However, the Crimson Scourge surged ahead regardless and deftly darted after Albel as soon as the flapping doors provided an opening.

_>>Fayt's a girly pansy with noodle arms.>> _

THAT earned the Crimson Scourge a glare capable of bending its blade backwards if only looks could kill. _>>Now that I've got your undivided attention… what's with the attitude, young man?>> _

Albel's face remained cloaked in grey shadow as he stood beneath the shallow fluorescent tubes which lined the kitchen's ceiling, concealing most of his twisted scowl. A heartbeat passed, followed by several more. The steady hum of the kitchen freezer and faint clangs and thumps in the distance were the only things which punctuated the deathly silence… and all the while, the cool air circulating around the oval shaped room wafted around the snarky warrior and his sidekick sword as they both struggled to emerge as victor out of their vigorous stare-down contest.

Suddenly, the tension snapped as quickly as a taut rubber band. Albel let out a strangled groan as he mashed his forehead against the nearest kitchen cabinet.

"_I can't DO this!"_

The Crimson Scourge allowed itself the tiniest of moments to preen – it'd be a cold day in hell before anyone could stare down anything lacking eyeballs – before bluntly asking: _ >>Why ever not?>> _

After realising beating his head into a pulp wasn't going to make the recipe cook itself, Albel rubbed a burgeoning bump as he impatiently flung the piece of paper in the Crimson Scourge's direction. "Take a look at it!"

The Crimson Scourge obediently bounced over to inspect the recipe, bending over the paper where it lay in a crumpled heap on the tiled floor.

_ >>It appears to be a recipe for some sort of cake confectionary. What's so bad about that?>> _

Albel's eyes virtually bulged out of their sockets, saved only from spilling over by his optic nerves. "What's so BAD? Did it ever occur to you that I've never cooked a cake in my _life?_ Or used a _kitchen? _Or even cooked for anyone I didn't want to _poison?_ And now that blonde maggot thinks I can do _ALL FREAKIN' THREE!"_

Strangely though the Crimson Scourge had gone all silent and hadn't even made any attempts to interrupt Albel's mini tantrum, although it had of course been enjoying the spectacle. That should've put Albel on guard if he wasn't so preoccupied in seeing red.

_>>Huh. There's more to this. It's gotten personal, hasn't it? You just can't let Sophia win.>> _

Albel's mouth opened and shut several times, like he was experimenting with a new way of catching flies.

"Who said… what… that's not -" he spluttered hopelessly.

_>>I don't blame you though – she cooks one mean cake.>> _The Crimson Scourge said with a little laugh, scooping the recipe up with its blade and flicking it back into Albel's open palm. >>_I KNEW there was a reason why you got goaded so easily by that big buffoon. Maybe he's more perceptive then what we gave him credit for.>> _

"You give him too _much_ credit. It's no big secret that I think the girl's an airheaded wench. I've tripped her up in the hallway enough times by now!" Albel said defensively.

_ >>At least it shows that he's thinking, which is more than what I can say for you right now.>> _The Crimson Scourge scolded._ >>And stop fidgeting like that! You're making me dizzy!>> _

In his nervousness and frustration, Albel hadn't even been aware that he'd been reduced to restlessly prowling up and down the space between the kitchen's first row of cook top ovens and sinks. He looked behind him, mildly surprised that he hadn't worn a trench into the checkered tiles with all of his pacing, and finally forced himself to stop.

"You just don't understand," he snapped at the Crimson Scourge. "Haven't you seen the way that pink worm completely _swarms _over Fayt? And the fool is so damn nice that he can't even tell her to shove it! Especially at mealtimes – I know what she's doing, even if you and all the other maggots are blind. All that simpering and stuffing him to the gills with food… she's aiming to be "Miss Perfect Homemaker"! And you know what? I DON'T STAND A CHANCE! Not against _that!"_

Albel's voice lowered dangerously as he continued to seethe. The memories came rushing back thick and fast, and the Crimson Scourge suddenly snapped to attention as a flood of jumbled images and emotions suddenly came tumbling down their shared mental connection. The fragments of thoughts assailed the sword in a cloud of scattergun colour and acting on instinct, it plucked one shining shard out of the flurry to hold to the light…

-----------------------

_Dinnertime on the Diplo – always a chaotic affair. The mess quarters swarmed with crew and passengers alike, while the normally cool ambience of the ship was replaced with loud communal chatter and warm, smoky smells which drifted out of the noisy bustle of the kitchen…_

_The Crimson Scourge found itself blinking, surveying the room through the watchful eyes of its young master. The memory conveyed nothing but distaste as he flicked his gaze from one person to the next, hopping among them like so many stepping stones and dismissing them just as casually. However there was nothing flippant about his intentions. He was looking in order to find, focusing barely long enough on each upturned face in the hope of catching sight of the one he ached to see. _

_It was a tough search, although he didn't mind a bit. The Crimson Scourge felt the glow of an inner smile in his belly as he continued to push through and scan the throng. Fayt Leingod could be – and was – many things… Incredibly stubborn one minute, sweetly unsure the next, a paragon of strength and grace in the midst of the most heated battles… Above all else however, there was something which was becoming readily apparent the longer the journey continued. Fayt Leingod was _loved

_The Crimson Scourge heard its master heave a low sigh, the unassuming sound conveying a wealth of quiet frustration and wonderment. Really though, how could it be helped? The young man was a metaphorical star, pulling others into his orbit not just through the power of gravitation but through the simple goodness of his heart. The Crimson Scourge spotted him now in the midst of the crowd, even as it felt its master's pulse quicken in reaction… yes, it could feel the warmth… inner light shone so radiantly in the young man's core, beckoning others irresistibly closer. The pull was strong and the master was cold. The problem? Fayt Leingod was most definitely loved, but where there was only one Fayt Leingod… there was more than just one adoring admirer in the crowd._

"_More roast beef, Fayt? You know I made it just for you – the way you've always liked it!"_

"_Ah no, thanks Sophia… I really couldn't eat anymore…!"_

"_Don't be silly, you're so skinny. There's no such thing as too much meat for you! Tee hee, we always used to argue like this… remember that night I stayed over and said the same thing? I guess some things don't change, but… I hope it doesn't have to always be like that…" _

_The Crimson Scourge felt the fierce frown pull on the corners of its master's mouth, long before it spread across the whole of his face like wildfire. It didn't disapprove – there was plenty to frown about. It wasn't just the sickening sight of the pink clad maggot draping herself across the blushing blue haired teen, her breasts pushing suggestively up against his body… no, it was more than that. It just couldn't disregard the young master's_ fear._ Anxiety prickled his skin like tiny needle points and swirled in erratic circular motions within the pit of his stomach, his muscles squeezing uncomfortably tight. The master had always scoffed at fear; always aspired to be strong in the face of even the most impossible odds. This time it was different, and the Crimson Scourge finally discerned why._

_In a battle of _emotions,_ the master found himself floundering. What could he possibly be for Fayt that the girl already wasn't? Friend, confidante, comrade…_lover?_ The latter made him shudder, and he swallowed a lump that seemed to have risen at the back of his throat. How could his feelings be justified? There were no intimate childhood moments shared, no common planet that they could call home, no upbringing that had moulded them into two similar beings of like mindedness… _

… _so why would Fayt ever need HIM?_

-----------------------

_ >>Hmph. That's the problem…>> _The Crimson Scourge nodded to itself as it shrugged itself loose from the clutches of remembrance, releasing the tiny fragment back into the rushing thought stream within Albel's head. The memory slipped away as quickly as it had appeared, but the sword had seen and heard enough to muse over. Maybe this wasn't the best time to address the entirety of the unanswered doubts – there was ample time for that later – but it was a decent place to start.

_>>Well come on then. Let's go.>> _The Crimson Scourge said at last, flashing a wicked grin through Albel's head.

"What?" Only a few seconds had passed for Albel, and he was totally unaware of the Crimson Scourge's deeper mental probing.

_>>Rivals always make things so much more interesting. Soooo… let's give that annoying little airhead something to counteract. Might as well make life difficult for her.>> _

"Through evisceration?" Albel suggested hopefully.

_ >>No, you idiot. We're going to bake that damn cake better than anyone else.>> _The Crimson Scourge's mind voice had taken on a steely edge which matched its physique and it hopped purposely towards Albel, who instinctively started backing up as he noticed the sword's blade take on a menacing sheen.

"Stop looking at me like that," Albel growled nervously but the Crimson Scourge kept right on advancing. Abruptly, it broke into a charge.

"SHIT!" Albel yelled and ducked in reaction as the Crimson Scourge leapt gracefully into the air, ignoring the temptation of spearing him through the eye and instead soaring along a specific trajectory right above his head. Still expecting some sort of pain as he shielded his face, Albel at first didn't notice as something light and feathery fluttered over his arms to settle snugly against his figure.

_ >>There we go. Pretty as a picture!>> _

The sound of the Crimson Scourge laughing in his head jolted Albel out of it. The broken hook dangling above his head caught his attention first, followed by the more startling sight of the bright pink apron adorning his body which was emblazoned with a very loud slogan proclaiming "KISS THE COOK".

Albel didn't even have the luxury of letting his horror congeal before the Crimson Scourge darted behind his heels, herding him relentlessly towards the kitchen pantry.

_ >>Rule one of cooking – FIND THE INGREDIENTS FIRST!>> _

-----------------------

_Elsewhere…_

"Whew… I phink vat wuz a _wittle _too stwong…" Cliff puffed as he sprinted like a cut cat towards the exit of the living quarters. Holding one's nose while moving strenuously was universally regarded as moronic no matter what planet you visited, but the billowing green haze filling the hallway behind Cliff seemed to demand a relaxation of the rules of common sense. He put on an extra burst of speed which propelled him through the double doors leading into the _Diplo's _secondary crew area, only barely avoiding whiffing anymore of the outrageously smelly green smog. He urgently punched the lock panel with his thumb and sighed with relief as the doors uttered an affirmative "ding".

Cliff peered cautiously through the Perspex windows on the doors, wincing a little as he realised visibility had been reduced to something only hi-tech night vision goggles could hope to penetrate. And the smell? Well… um…

"Fayt will thank me later Fayt will thank me later Fayt will thank me later…" Cliff whimpered as he scuttled off to conceal himself in his special hidey hole, the one he usually reserved for avoiding Mirage's Avenger Kicks whenever she caught him using jetpacks to moonwalk on the ceiling…

-----------------------

I smell scheming! How about youse? ;)

Next chapter: The program continues, with chaotic results! Expect bad label reading, unexpected drunkenness and blatant disregard for fire safety. Oo How's Fayt going to react?


	5. Step 1: Cook for your lover pt 2

Greetings again my dears and happy new year! This is the longest chapter to date, sitting at around 7500 words – I never realised how long it'd take to massacre a single recipe. Oo So yes, into the kitchen you go and cheer Albel and the Crimson Scourge on from the sidelines! XD

Zen's free tip of the day: Don't drink and cook, kiddies. XD

------------------------------

"**STEP #1: Cook for your lover" (cont)**

_>>Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm the designated list checker yes…?>> _

"Who else would it be? Do I have a mouse in my pocket?"

_ >>Not at all oh Wicked One… there's just one small problem. I've yet to check anything off.>> _

"Lay off! I'm going as fast as I can!" Albel snarled in response to the Crimson Scourge's sarcasm. He wrung his apron strings in frustration, and the Crimson Scourge couldn't help but snicker. Albel looked thoroughly hot behind the collar before a drop of cake batter had even made contact with a mixing bowl – if that wasn't early indication of pending doom then it certainly didn't know what was, and the Crimson Scourge dared _anyone_ to challenge the pwnage of its doom-predicting abilities.

Then again, the Crimson Scourge couldn't honestly say that it had expected the kitchen pantry to be as enormous as it was. Entering it had felt like walking into a hi-tech corner store, albeit with twice the amount of shelves, all of which seemed to be fitted into the walls at heights unfairly biased towards Klausians.

"I've seen more penetrable army lines…" Albel muttered under his breath as he craned his neck to scan the uppermost line of shelves. At first things hadn't looked _overly _impossible. Finding six types of ingredients should've been a cinch, but the operation was rapidly descending into the realms of the crappy "Where's Wanker" books he used to thumb through as a kid. Klausians were packrats. Albel was now positively convinced. He'd never seen so much _junk _in the one place, apart from Cliff's contaminated excuse for an "office".

_>>How hard could it be to just find flour?>> _The Crimson Scourge asked impatiently, coincidentally voicing Albel's earlier underestimation.

"Fine then, you try!" Albel snapped.

_>>Found it.>> _The Crimson Scourge immediately prodded a large paper sack at ground level. The enormous black fonts screaming the word **"FLOUR"** on the front was a slight give-away.

"I was just getting to that shelf…" Albel said sourly as he dragged the sack out into the open, but the Crimson Scourge had already started hopping up and down the rest of the shelves as though they were a set of stairs. _>>I'll look for salt, you find the sugar…!>> _

Easier said than done, Albel couldn't help thinking. He placed his hands on his hips as he marched down the aisle, feeling an ache setting into his neck with all the turning and tipping his head was doing all for the sake of some blasted sugar. What's more, the further down the aisle Albel got, he noticed that the labels on all of the packets and bottles were becoming less and less descriptive. How weird. He didn't dwell too much on it, being far more preoccupied in rubbing the cramp out of his shoulders while half-heartedly searching for the elusive sucrose. If Albel _had_ been paying attention though, the cleaning lady's bucket sitting inconspicuously in a nearby corner might've aroused some suspicions.

_>>Well?>> _The Crimson Scourge suddenly jumped down out of nowhere, sporting a small bag of salt slung over its cross guard. It hopped over to Albel, who was crouched on the floor turning over a plain white bottle in his hand.

"The label just says "sugar soap", whatever that is," Albel declared. He uncapped the bottle and peered inside, exclaiming in surprise. "Smells sweet… but it's like water. Plus it's blue!"

_ >>I've heard of liquid sugar before. Maybe it's just got bonus food colouring added in?>> _The Crimson Scourge suggested as Albel showed it the strange mixture. _ >>Anyway, the recipe doesn't say what type we've got to use. I guess it doesn't matter as long as we use something close to sugar. Just take it, we're wasting time.>> _

"If you say so," Albel shrugged, screwing the lid back on. "Are we done now?"

_ >>Nope, let's find where they keep the chilled goods. We still need eggs, butter and cider.>>  
_

"Cider!" Albel exclaimed incredulously.

_>>We're baking a cider cake, remember?>> _The Crimson Scourge enlightened Albel, flipping the bag of salt into his free hand so that it could hop ahead without being encumbered. _ >>Light, fluffy and moist according to Aunty Doreen!>> _

"I'll settle for just edible," Albel mumbled pessimistically as the Crimson Scourge stopped in front of the pantry's four story refrigerator. This was a piece of technology which still fascinated Albel, even though he'd raided it enough times now to grow accustomed to it. How the hell such a huge block of metal could keep things cold was beyond him, though his early attempts to puncture it to inspect what was inside had been met with an explosion of cooling gel, lots of scolding and lukewarm soda for a week. Only Fayt had smiled and taken Albel aside that day to explain...

------------------------------

"_It's called a refrigerator Albel, or fridge for short. It keeps food cold."_

"_Why the hell would you want to do that, fool? Then you have to heat the food all over again!"_

"_Well, some foods go bad very quickly. I guess you could say fridges keep things fresh by keeping them cold."_

"_Hmph. Why don't you salt or pickle your food then? Or use cellars?"_

"_On Earth some people still do, but usually for delicacy foods. And we only use cellars for storing liquor nowadays. Fridges preserve nearly everything. Freezers too. They're even colder, and some are so big you can walk or drive into them. There's a supermarket near my old house which has one."_

"_Bah. There's nothing super about a market. They're noisy and full of useless haggling maggots."_

"_No no, a supermarket is…"_

------------------------------

Albel wouldn't ever admit it of course, but talking with Fayt was always a fascinating experience. He'd never conceived of things like "trolleys", or "checkout counters" which could magically beep on things called "barcodes", or of chocolate eggs which came with little toys inside them. ("_Kinder Surprise? _What the hell is a Kinder?") It all sounded so miraculous even though it was obviously normal to the point of mundane for the blue haired teen. Despite this, Fayt was always more than willing to talk until the cows came home in that easy-going, mellow way of his which Albel found totally endearing.

Yet it was during those conversations that Albel was never more painfully aware of how_ little _he could offer Fayt. There was nothing Fayt could want or need on the crappy mud ball known as Elicoor II! Everything was waiting for him back on Earth – friends, family, his way cool gadgets… and that… that… _girlfriend _who could cook up a storm without even chipping a nail. Albel bet she wouldn't ever have trouble finding sugar or flour. She probably _showered _with sugar and flour. She and Fayt would probably _name _their kids after sugar and flour.

_And I bet she doesn't even need to wear a girly apron either… _Albel thought gloomily as he toyed with the pink apron strings, which were loosening from all of his fidgeting. Cliff's program was looking bleaker with each passing minute. There just didn't seem to be any point, not with a rival that could upstage him without even trying and the low prospect of Fayt even wanting to hang around Elicoor II when he could always head back to his technological paradise. Albel tried to curb his worries though, knowing that at any minute the Crimson Scourge might pick up on his fretting and nag his poor ears off.

_Just cook the damn cake, give Fayt gastro and then forget about the whole thing. Don't know why I thought this would all work out…_

Meanwhile, the Crimson Scourge had prised the fridge doors open with its hilt and poked its blade inside to have a look around. >>_Well there's plenty of eggs, and I've found the cider!>> _It announced cheerily, and then paused as it searched every inch of the fridge shelves and peered in the compartments. _ >>Hmmm. I don't see any butter though.>> _

Albel shook himself free of his depressing thoughts and stuck his head into the fridge. "Maybe it's like the sugar? Look for dissolved butter or something."

_ >>Now that you mention it, I saw some little vials at the back filled with yellow liquid. We could try those, I s'ppose.>> _The Crimson Scourge executed a neat horizontal flip and pushed the said vials to the front with its blade. They were unusual containers made of plastic, topped with bright yellow lids which were strapped to the sides of the container with old brown tape. Sloshing inside were equally bright yellow pints of liquid. Albel picked one container up and scrutinised it, noting how opaque and thick the liquid looked as he tipped it from side to side. It really did resemble melted butter, and that was good enough for him.

"You handle the sugar, salt and flour. I'll take the rest to the table…" Albel instructed, fumbling with an icy bottle of Winking Sage Cider, an egg carton, the sugar soap and now the multiple vials. Maybe it was just bad luck that neither Albel nor the Crimson Scourge thought to ponder the deeper reasons as to _why _the vials were taped the way they were. Closer inspection might even have revealed to them the faded words scrawled on the tape, which had been written in brown marker that matched the shade of the writing surface. It was still hard to tell what exactly the label said – maybe something along the lines of "Bunny… urine… sam…les… Mar…h 15… 1995…" but hey, it could be wrong. Either way, Albel managed to balance the vials in the crook of his arm, using his remaining hand and gauntlet to carry the rest of the ingredients over to the largest counter in the kitchen.

The Crimson Scourge had already offloaded its ingredients, and was now bouncing around in front of one of the kitchen's fancy cook top ovens. _ >>I can't make head or tail of this thing, oh Wicked One! How can it make fire without wood and flint?>> _

"Why are you worrying about it now? We're supposed to be dealing with the ingredients first, aren't we?" Albel strode over to the Crimson Scourge, who brandished the recipe in his face.

_ >>It says something about preheating an oven, but I've never seen an oven like this before!>> _

"Me neither," Albel gulped as he gave the huge hunk of metal a good going over. The only reason why he knew it was an oven was from the shape and the placement of the door – everything else was total gobble-de-gook. There were so many dials and buttons and weird symbols and shiny windows and of all things, a little _clock_, that Albel didn't know how to approach the weird contraption at all. Finally, he pulled the stainless steel door open and peered inside.

_>>Why did a light just turn on out of nowhere? We didn't even press anything!>> _The Crimson Scourge exclaimed in wonderment.

"Look, I'll make a fire since I'm the only one with HANDS. Why don't you deal with the next step?" Albel suggested in the hope of getting his sword out of the way before it witnessed him doing something stupid. He snatched some paper towels from an overhead shelf and shoved the whole lot below the grill platform in the oven. He arranged it all in the shape of a campfire before getting up to rummage through the cupboards for more fuel. The Crimson Scourge hesitated, watching Albel send a stream of paper plates and disposable cups flying from behind a cupboard door, before hopping up onto the kitchen counter and zeroing in on the "butter".

_>>Next step… butter a cake pan…>> _The Crimson Scourge checked the recipe one more time for luck, and levered the cap off one of the vials. It flew off with a loud 'pop', which may have suggested it hadn't been opened for a _very _long time, but Albel was making so much noise in his corner of the kitchen that the sound was all but muted. The Crimson Scourge hadn't been able to find a cake pan, but a nice wooden bowl of fruit was sitting on the table just begging to be emptied. Sad remnants of bananas and grapes now lay strewn across the floor as the Crimson Scourge nudged the big bowl over to the main counter.

It was a bit tough figuring out how to pick up the vials, but the Crimson Scourge finally managed to balance one on its hilt and dunked the contents into the bowl. It looked a bit watery but the sword had never claimed to be an authority on the consistency of dairy goods. It started spreading the "butter" around the inside of the bowl with its pommel.

_ >>Hmmm hmm hmm-hmm hmmmmm…!>> _The Crimson Scourge hummed a catchy little tune as it worked, completely oblivious to the strange smell emanating from the liquid which would _not _beassociated with milk products by most people with a functioning nose. As the rules of smithing would have it though, swords have never been crafted with sinuses. Not even magic ones, sad to say. The Gods decided to screw things up even more by timing the greasing job with Albel's successful ignition of his pile of makeshift fuel. The paper cups, plates and towels lit up with a loud "WHOOOSH" as Albel struck a spark from his gauntlet, and big gobs of grey smoke started pouring out of the mouth of the oven, filling the kitchen with an acrid odour which overpowered all other smells.

Albel coughed and waved frantically at the hazy air, hurrying over to the counter where the Crimson Scourge was still prattling away. "I don't know if that's hot enough. Go find some more fuel, would you? I'll take over here… -cough-…"

_ >>Ha, you call that a fire? Leave it to me!>> _The Crimson Scourge said with much bravado as it leapt off the counter, shaking itself free of the rest of the yellow "butter". Albel scowled and wiped some stray droplets off his cheek, wondering why the Crimson Scourge's words sounded so familiar… and then he remembered that Cliff had said the exact same thing at their first meeting. Albel shuddered a bit, quickly shoving the memory out of his mind. What an awful omen!

The Crimson Scourge seemed to have ducked out to the pantry, so Albel turned his attention to the recipe. The first two steps had been completed. W00t. Next up…

"Cream together… butter and sugar… until… light and fluffy…" Albel read slowly, extracting a large mixing bowl from the cupboard below the counter for that very purpose and plonking it next to the pile of ingredients. That part was easy. He checked the recipe again.

_2/3 cups of butter. 1½ cups of sugar._

WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL? Albel stared at the unfamiliar numbers in confusion, his eyes widening as they still failed to make any sense the longer he looked at them. It'd be wrong to say math was _totally_ out of Albel's league – any Airyglyphian captain would look pretty dumb if they couldn't even tell their King how many losers they'd disemboweled at the end of each day – but _fractions?_ Albel was starting to wish he'd paid a tiny bit more attention in school as opposed to angling for goldfish in the class aquarium, but some things just couldn't be helped. His brow furrowed as he quickly schemed his way to a compromise, choosing to broadly interpret the instructions in a way which probably had Aunty Doreen not only turning in her grave, but also kicking, screaming and foaming at the mouth.

"Two vials out of the three here…" Albel muttered, feverishly pouring the "butter" into the bowl, "And… well… this is a small bottle. I'll put all the sugar in! Cliff said Fayt likes sweet things…"

The sugar soap gushed out of the white bottle in a brilliant blue stream, oozing through the yellow "butter" like bright blue veins threading through jaundiced skin. By the time the last blue drops plopped into the bowl, the mixture had taken on a sickly, yet distinct green hue. Albel regarded it with a healthy amount of trepidation. He couldn't help being reminded of the big booger collection he used to keep behind his bed as a kid, and thinking that if all those boogers were liquefied and put into a bowl, they'd look something like _this._ But it definitely wasn't the time for childhood nostalgia. He fumbled around in the closest drawer until he finally uncovered a large spoon, and started stirring the green goo with vigour.

_ >>Wow, it looks just like that old booger collection you once told me about!>> _The Crimson Scourge suddenly remarked, peeking curiously over the edge of the counter.

"What are you talking about? I never told you ANYTHING like that!" Albel growled as his cheeks started to burn.

_>>You're right. I must've heard the tune playing just then.>> _The Crimson Scourge sniggered.

"GO MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL!" Albel all but roared. "Have you done something about the oven yet?"

_ >>Of course I have! My, don't get your thong in a twist oh Wicked One.>> _

"Then… then… go beat the eggs! I can't do everything by myself!" Albel barked, grabbing multiple handfuls of flour from the sack and tossing it all into the bowl. To the deepest hell with measurements; maybe if he put the same amount of everything into the bowl then it'd all even out in the end? Riding on that (questionable) train of logic, he ripped open the bag of salt and dumped a few handfuls of crystals on top of the mountain of flour and booger mix. He shoved the spoon in the middle and continued stirring, feeling the mixture thicken to all new levels as he folded the flour in…

Ker-**SPLAT!** Ker-**SPLAT!** Ker-**SPLAT!**

"_Aaaaargggghhh!" _Albel hollered at a frequency capable of shattering glass windows as something horribly wet hit him right in the back of the head. This was followed by a second wet missile which splattered between his shoulder blades, and another which sailed past the tip of his nose and died on the far kitchen wall. Albel whirled around just in time to catch a bit of yolky substance in the eye, prompting him to yell in language that was quite enough to cut through the varnish coating the counter.

"**WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" **Albel finally managed to splutter, fending off more airborne bits of egg and shells which were flying up like shrapnel after each of the Crimson Scourge's explosive whacks. He'd only turned his back for a second, and already one half of the kitchen looked like the aftermath of a war in a chicken coop! Albel surged through the white and yellow storm and nabbed the Crimson Scourge by the hilt before it totaled the rest of the eggs in the carton.

_ >>What's your problem? You told me to beat the eggs didn't you?>> _The sword whined. Albel could only pant and glower, not trusting himself to say anything which didn't include rude four letter words.

The Crimson Scourge suddenly giggled. _ >>Your face is dripping!>> _

"I am a calm ship on stormy seas. Calm ship on stormy seas. _Calmshipcalmshipcalmship…" _It was a mantra Woltar had once suggested to Albel after he'd forced a vandalist to clean their graffiti using their own tongue as a brush. How well the mantra worked was open to question though, and it didn't seem to be helping right now. Albel only felt a little better after he'd hurled the eggy Crimson Scourge into the nearest wall like a tavern dart. He grabbed the bowl filed with booger goo and scraped as much remains of egg that he could from the cabinets, walls and tables into the mix. Fragments of creamy eggshells stuck out all over the place but er… Albel figured they could pass off as extra crunch. If they cut any stomachs, it wasn't his fault that the Crimson Scourge had to take things so goddamn LITERALLY.

Meanwhile, the sword was displaying remarkable resilience, and had managed to free itself from where Albel had wedged its point between two wall tiles.

_>>Don't forget the cider! Aunty Doreen said it's the key to success!>> _The Crimson Scourge called, making a huge leap so as to land back on the counter. The sword was still dripping, and a little puddle of egg was forming around it even as it balanced on the table.

"If this thing even COOKS I'll be happy, screw success!" Albel barked as he rushed back to the counter. He didn't know the exact amount of time they'd been in the kitchen but it had been quite awhile. Any minute the rest of the _Diplo _would be stirring and homing in on the kitchen for breakfast – Fayt included! The thought was enough to give him the heebie-jeebies, and as he picked up the dark green bottle of Winking Sage Cider, he wondered how many more years it was going to take to open _this _thing up. The huge cork in the bottle neck looked completely unyielding.

_>>I used to do this sort of stuff all the time – stick my blade under the cork.>> _The Crimson Scourge offered, jumping into Albel's hand. _>>I might be out of practice though. You're the only Chosen I've had who doesn't drink!>> _

"I've got enough problems without worrying about falling over my feet!" Albel retorted, setting the Crimson Scourge at an angle and jamming the point of its blade into the bottle rim. There wasn't a lot of room under the cork but Albel felt the blade gain a little bit of leverage. Still, trying to make the cork budge was more like trying to shift a granite boulder with nothing but a spoon.

_>>Put your weight into it! Show some muscle! EXUDE!>> _The Crimson Scourge yelled in Albel's head, sounding for all the world like some cheesy sports coach from a bad teen movie.

"I'm pushing as hard as I can!" Albel yelled right back.

_>>You call that hard? I've been pushed harder by schoolgirls in sailor uniforms!>> _

"Fine! I'll give you HARD!"

_ >>Ha! Keep trying!>> _

"SHUT UP! BRACE YOURSELF!"

------------------------------

Cliff raised his eyebrows in surprise as he pressed his ear against the solid kitchen door, taking in the range of… well… _extraordinarily _suggestive noises that were floating through not only the door but all of the walls lining the hallway. But his expression quickly transformed into one which reflected megalomaniacal joy as he picked up on the unmistakable sound of _pounding against a tabletop!_

"Whoa! Aunty Doreen you _**ROCK!"** _He whooped, scurrying down the corridor while occasionally leaping up to click his heels Leprechaun-style…

------------------------------

_>>Now look what you've done, you klutz!>> _

"Oh sure everything's MY fault isn't it?" Albel said scathingly as he banged the bottle against the counter over and over again, trying in vain to dislodge the Crimson Scourge which was now firmly lodged in the poor cork. To say that the sword was thoroughly disgruntled would be the understatement of the century.

_ >>Be careful! I'm slipping!>> _The Crimson Scourge yelped as it felt itself being driven further into the cork.

"That's the whole point. If you break through the cork bottom you could split it in half!" Albel grunted as he kept slamming the bottle on top of the counter despite the Crimson Scourge's loud protests.

_ >>You don't understand! There's cider underneath! If it gets on me then–>> _The Crimson Scourge wasn't able to finish, because with one final whack, Albel finally succeeded in sending the sword's blade straight through the middle of the cork. The pumice split into jagged halves as it made way for the Crimson Scourge, whose wailing was prematurely cut short as its entire blade was unceremoniously dunked into the fizzy cider.

"There. That wasn't so bad was it?" Albel said grimly as he yanked the sword out of the bottle, pouring about a quarter of the cider into the booger goo. He started stirring it in, but halfway through he suddenly felt that something was odd. Normally the Crimson Scourge would've back-chatted by now, and maybe even pushed his head into the cake batter to make up for the insult to it. One thing was for sure, it was definitely the most opinionated piece of metal in the Eternal Sphere – so why was it suddenly so quiet?

"Hey! Crimson Scourge?" Albel paused in his stirring, and prodded their mental connection.

_ >>–Hic–…>> _

Albel's eyes widened in alarm, sensing a weird onslaught of dizziness where there had once been crisp and crackling thought. "Wha-"

The words were knocked out of him more effectively than a fist to the stomach, since he _never_ thought he'd see the day when the Crimson Scourge would lose its legs, figuratively speaking. The sword was still upright, albeit only because it was leaning against a floor cabinet for support, and its blade was wobbling precariously as it started losing its fight against gravity. Albel darted forward and caught it just as it lost its footing on a bit of leftover egg mush. Good _Gods,_ the blade was going all floppy even as he held it!

"What's wrong with you? Answer me!" Albel shouted, giving the Crimson Scourge a little shake. That only made the sword's blade droop even more, and Albel noticed with rising despair that the normally solid steel was quickly taking on the consistency of limp rubber.

_ >>Awww… youse so… cute… –Hic– _>> The Crimson Scourge suddenly giggled in Albel's head, tossing weakly in his arms. >>_So like…–Hic– … I says "Are youse talkin' to ME?" coz like… no one else wuz… I mean, no one else wuz talkin' to ME, so I musta been talkin' to ME coz… coz…–Hic–>> _

"Oh. Dear. Gods," Albel muttered flatly.

_>>…coz… coz… I'M SO LOOOOONELY!>> _The Crimson Scourge suddenly bawled, simultaneously sobbing and snorting as its blade contorted into fascinating shapes. Albel's first reaction was to drop it, but the Crimson Scourge wrapped itself around his neck like a metal boa constrictor, making him nearly gag with the overpowering smell of cider which coated the whole length of its blade. _>>DON'T LEAVE MEEEE…!>> _

"GetoffgetoffGETOFF!"Albel yowled as he staggered to his feet and lurched back to his abandoned booger goo, nearly tipping over due to the added weight swinging around his neck. "Since when did swords get DRUNK?"

_>>Wha's a nice goil like youse doin' in a… place… like…>> _The Crimson Scourge mumbled dreamily, sagging a little against Albel's neck. He discreetly reached up with one hand, hoping it was starting to pass out so that he could pluck it off, but the sword suddenly flared up and all but throttled him while screeching itself silly. **_ >>DON'T LEAVE MEEEEEEEEEE…!>> _**

"**ACK!"** Albel spluttered as his air supply temporarily went MIA, tugging desperately at the Crimson Scourge's blade to loosen its iron grip. "OKAY OKAY OKAY! Just sit there and don't _move!"_

The Crimson Scourge relaxed just a little._ >>–Hic–…Hee hee hee hee hee… youse are so funnee…! Hee hee hee hee hee…! –Hic–>> _

"How many _mood swings_ were in that damn bottle?" Albel demanded to no one in particular, trying to mould the booger goo into some semblance of a cake after he dumped it into the greased wooden bowl. At the same time, he was trying to smother the panic which kept bubbling in the nether regions of his gut and was making his hand shake, so that it was harder to shape the goo. The entire operation had been a disaster right from the start, just as he'd known it would be… but did anyone listen? NOOOOOO. Did anyone believe him when he said he couldn't cook? NOOOOOO. And now here he was, burdened with batter that resembled pureed snot and a totally wasted sword and a kitchen that looked like an egg bomb had gone off inside it and an oven that kept chain smoking and…

WAIT A MINUTE! Albel peered over the bulk of the Crimson Scourge which was obscuring half of his face and stared in horror at the oven, which was belching smoke at the same rate as an active volcano – a volcano on the verge of erupting! The smoke that was filling the kitchen was unusually wispy white, and Albel found himself coughing uncontrollably as he tried waving smoke away from his face in order to get enough air.

"Is _that_ your idea of starting a fire?" Albel rasped, forgetting that the Crimson Scourge was hardly in any state to reply. All he got out of it was a mental burp and a silly drunk giggle, forcing him to sprint over to the huffing and puffing oven to get some answers. To his surprise, he found that the smoke wasn't actually coming from inside the appliance. Instead, there was a strange line of grey powder leading into the mouth of the oven, its point of origin lying somewhere in the depths of the pantry. The white smoke was… coming from the powder…? What had the Crimson Scourge done?

_ >>Pretty pretty… fireflies…–Hic–…>> _The Crimson Scourge said in a singsong fashion, the tip of its blade wiggling a bit as though trying to grasp one of the many little sparks being thrown from the line of powder.

"This looks like a… fuse…" Albel trailed off as he watched the sparks gaining ground, eating up more of the powder as it traveled closer and closer to the open door of the oven.

_Oh Gods. Inside the oven!_

Albel dove down on his hands and knees, had a good long look, and made a mental note to change his underwear if he got out of this alive.

_>>Oi've gotta lurvely bunch of coconuts…–Hic–… SOME AS BIG AS YER 'EAD…!>> _The Crimson Scourge drunkenly warbled. Albel ignored it, tearing his eyes away from the mountain of firecrackers in the oven and hesitated while staring at the bowl of batter on the counter. Oh, what the hey. He threw the bowl onto the grill platform, suddenly feeling very put-out by the thought of the cake not even getting baked after all the trouble it had taken to get to this stage. The fact that the baking would be done via several kilos of firecrackers was beside the point. Dangerous and idiotic yes,but still beside the point. Plus, there was some comfort to be had in that it wasn't his idea to create mass destruction for once. (Albel's insurance company was heard to utter a sigh of relief which knocked down several trees).

Albel glanced at the fuse again and wisely decided that it was high time that he got the hell out of there, since getting _himself _baked wasn't mentioned anywhere in the program! The Crimson Scourge was still wrapped around his neck, amusing itself by gaping at the dust motes flying through the air, but apart from that there was nothing else Albel had brought into the kitchen with him. On that parting thought, he wasted no more time in breaking into a run for the kitchen doors.

Trust the Crimson Scourge. It may have gotten completely hammered, but it was still fully capable of inadvertently creating trouble in a disturbing Dennis-the-Menace fashion. Albel resolved to be more wary of this _delightful _quality in the future when he felt his foot come into contact with the grapes and bananas that the sword had carelessly pushed onto the floor earlier.

"_Aughhhhhhhh…!"_Albel squawked as he felt his traction vanish and he closed his eyes in defeat, bracing himself for inevitable impact with the unforgiving ground. But instead of falling on his ass, the combination of smushed banana, grape juice and the egg mush on the soles of Albel's shoes seemed to fuse together like long lost pieces of an ancient scientific formula. Vitamin B6, Resveratrol and Triglycerides all embraced like brothers, their carbon and hydrogen atoms hooking together in single and double bonds to form a most wondrous concoction – the humble oil slick.

Albel's arms flailed helplessly as he poured all his concentration into keeping his balance, while the Crimson Scourge screeched something incoherent about vessels needing consecrating. (Wtf?) The kitchen floor was already smooth and flawless like the surface of a frozen lake, which wasn't very helpful to Albel's cause. He swore when one of his elbows slammed painfully into the edge of a tabletop, which only served to ricochet him like a pinball into a cluster of pans dangling on hooks from the ceiling.

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit…!" Albel cussed as he slipped and slid away from the deafening bangs and clangs, finally stumbling backwards through the kitchen doors which mercifully parted quickly for his toppling body. Empty air rose up to meet him – or at least it seemed to at first. In that crucial split second before Albel expected to crash and burn on the hallway floor, he suddenly registered a living presence standing directly behind him, about to take the full brunt of his fall…

"_Oomph!" _The newcomer had enough time to utter a startled cry before crumpling under Albel's weight like an unresisting rag doll. The two of them collided heavily and made a hard connection with the floor amid a loud **–THUMP–. **For a few stunned moments they lay dazed in a puddle of limbs, struggling to get back the breath which had been knocked out of the both of them.

"Uhhhh…" Albel groaned, fleetingly wondering why the world looked so different when it was viewed at a perpendicular angle to the ground, and then wondering where the hell he'd managed to learn the word "perpendicular" considering his craptacular performance in math class. Shaking away the cobwebs in his head and all of his aches and pains, sensation rushed back into Albel's nerve endings which was his cue to suddenly register the fact that… er… he was currently draped over something which was soft, warm, and most alarmingly… _breathing_.

The expression on Albel's face warped through so many transformations that if he'd been watching some other poor sucker in the same situation, he would've actually found it sadistically comical. There was nothing funny about this though. _Nothing funny at all._ It was the unfunniest unfun thing out of the range of unfunny unfun things that could possibly be called unfunny which meant it was the unfunniest unfun thing that the world had ever seen and possibly the unfunniest unfun thing that had occurred in the universe to date and…

_ >>Tee hee… that guy looks funny! …–Hic–…>> _

"Good morning Albel…"

Fayt's voice was rather muffled. This may have had something to do with the fact that at that very moment, Albel was sitting on Fayt's face in a position which would've loosened the drool reflexes of more than a few fan girls. Albel reacted like a cat that had been sprayed with a garden hose and practically threw himself into the closest wall.

"_Fayt! _Morning _good! _I mean… good morning!" Albel babbled. He scooted away until his back was pressed to the kitchen doors, effectively barring the way inside.

"Sorry for getting in the way like that. I didn't think anyone was in the kitchen already," Fayt apologised with a sheepish smile. He pushed himself off the floor, flattening his mussed up blue hair and straightening his white, low cut shirt. Albel didn't even realize he was staring at the attractive curves of Fayt's collarbones until the young man lifted his face, obscuring the view. Fayt's green eyes suddenly grew wide as dinner plates as he got his first good look at Albel's disheveled state.

This was one of those moments in life that Albel wished he could just let go of his thin veneer of control and scream, sob and carry on as loudly as he wanted. Something along the lines of "I DON'T WANT YOU TO SEE ME LIKE THIS!" would've been appropriate but Albel the Wicked still had a reputation to uphold. Not that his reputation was doing a fat lot of good at the moment to redeem him, at least not under Fayt's questioning eyes. Albel could only imagine what a sight he was to behold right then – pink apron more wrinkled than a weathered old granny, egg yolk spiking his hair, bruises in interesting places and a limp, snoring sword wrapped around his neck as though it were the latest in-thing from the world of fashion…

Fayt however, being the diplomatic person that he was, tactfully decided not to inquire after those oddities. Instead, he focused on the panicky expression which even Albel couldn't hide under a mask of stoicism, and the way Albel seemed totally determined to keep those kitchen doors tightly closed. The silence was just begging for the utterance of the ultimate four word question which Albel had been dreading the prospect of having to answer.

"What are you doing?"

There were multiple answers to that question, none of them good. Albel swallowed nervously as Fayt kept looking at him expectantly for an answer, forcing him to pounce on the first thing that floated through his head.

"Burning garbage," Albel blurted out.

Fayt blinked a few times, his gaze shifting from Albel's flushed cheeks towards the bottom of the kitchen doors. White smoke was squeezing itself steadily from the gap between the doors and floor in thick waves, wafting around Albel's guilty face like a fine mist.

"It's still burning," Albel said helpfully in way of explanation.

"Maybe we should go in and put it out…" Fayt started to suggest.

"**NO!"** Albel yelped, his hair nearly standing on end, and Fayt took an involuntarily step back. "I mean… **NO!** need. It'll put itself out. I made it like that. I burn things all the time."

The Crimson Scourge suddenly stirred against Albel's neck, roused from its drunken stupor by the racket its young master was making. It snorted a little in his head. _>>You… iz SO lame…>> _

"Shut up. Just pass out. You're more bearable like that," Albel hissed vehemently.

"What?" Fayt asked, confused.

"Nothing," Albel said shiftily. (Well what else could he say?) He squirmed uncomfortably against the kitchen doors, wishing that Fayt would just stop _staring _at him like that! The white smoke kept seeping out from the kitchen and was growing thicker by the passing second. Albel mustered all his willpower to resist the urge to cough and choke.

"So um… you're burning garbage," Fayt repeated at last, scratching his head and doing his best to ignore the billowing smoke.

"Yes," Albel said meekly.

–_**BANG!– **_

Albel and Fayt finally lowered their hands from their ears after a full half minute. Both of them knew that their ear drums wouldn't be able to take a second bone shattering explosion if another one happened to occur, so they wanted to be _extra _sure. Albel cringed when he heard the tinkling of the kitchen's emergency sprinkler system from behind the doors (which had remained upright through some architectural miracle), and a bubbling black liquid started oozing out from under the doors – the sort of oil you might find in most modern kitchen appliances if you only blasted them open first with a ton of TNT.

Fayt dodged a piece of steel paneling which fell away from the ceiling, and raised a hand to brush bits of debris from his shoulders. In the distance, the faint sounds of doors swishing open and shouts of alarm could be vaguely heard.

"You're burning garbage… with firecrackers?" Fayt inquired.

"It's an important occasion," Albel said stiffly out of instinct… that is, before realising just how incredibly retarded that sounded. Oh _bravo._

"I see…" Fayt said. His face had remained completely neutral during the duration of his interrogation of Albel, but Fayt's passive expression suddenly wavered and broke into a restrained grin, as though he were doing his best to not fall about laughing. His eyes betrayed his composure though, and Albel's breath caught in his throat at the sight of so much warm humour shining in the dark green flecks of Fayt's glowing irises.

"I don't usually get up so early, but there was a problem with one of my room's air vents," Fayt said, suddenly changing the subject. That was the simplest version of the tale – Fayt could still remember the sight of that smelly green cloud bearing down on him while filling his room faster than he'd have liked, compelling him to leap out of bed and into the nearest showers armed with his weight in soap. (Where _had_ that stink cloud comefrom?) Fayt scuffed his sandaled feet for a bit before looking Albel straight in the eye.

"I was going to make some breakfast. Do you want to join me?"

It was Albel's turn to blink rapidly. "But the kitchen is…" He couldn't bring himself to say what 'is' was, though it was fairly obvious anyhow. The oil was now pooling around their shoes in thick black puddles, and Albel idly wondered how on earth he was going to scrub his soles clean later. Or explain it all to Mirage.

"This is the ship's main kitchen, but there's a smaller one at the far end which is for the crew. They don't like being too far from the bridge, not even for dinner," Fayt explained. "Nobody will mind if we use it… as long as we don't blow it up."

Albel felt colour rise to his cheeks at that last remark but when he looked at Fayt again, the boy was still smiling. "Come on, I'll fix you something. You haven't eaten yet have you?"

"No…" Albel said faintly, hardly daring to believe that this was actually happening, and that it wasn't just another twisted dream via the Crimson Scourge's perverted hilt. How had something like cake baking turned into a _breakfast date_ with Fayt Leingod? Not that he was complaining or anything of course… for once he could simply enjoy the young man's company without that pink Sophia maggot sapping all of his attention. Without _anyone _sapping his attention, actually. Fayt was in such high demand nowadays that it was virtually impossible to converse with him without someone else hovering over his shoulder. This was DEFINITELY a golden opportunity which Albel wasn't about to pass up!

Fayt was already starting to move down the hallway, encouraging Albel to follow with small motions of his hands. Albel obediently peeled himself away from the kitchen doors and sloshed through the black oil after him, though he couldn't help but pause to spare a backward glance for the now silent kitchen.

The Crimson Scourge stirred again, its mind voice still groggy but not as thick as before. _>>Stupid… jus' get moving alrea'y…>> _

"I know. I am," Albel muttered, trailing Fayt by a couple of feet so that he was out of earshot. Albel sighed in quiet annoyance.

"I'm just wondering what happened to the cake…"

------------------------------

"Oh _man,_ does Albel know how to wreck things or what?" Cliff coughed, waving the clinging smoke away with wide sweeps of his muscular arms. After hearing the explosion and feeling it too – the vibrations had made several telephone books fall on his head – he'd come running, somehow already guessing the culprit. Sure enough, what he'd previously known as a state-of-the-art kitchen had been reduced to just a deep fried corner of the ship by the time he arrived on the scene.

The centre of the explosion seemed to have been a scorched patch near the back of the kitchen where the stoves had been, judging from the direction of the burn marks streaking the walls. There was nothing there now except for steaming lumps of scrap metal and a charred half circle on the tiles. Cliff picked his way through the ruins of the kitchen to stand before it, absentmindedly cleaning one ear with his little finger as he pondered what on earth had caused the immolation.

–_Rustle rustle– _

Cliff ceased digging in his ear for gold at the unexpected sound. It… it must've just been the bits and pieces settling. What else could it be, honestly?

–_RUSTLE RUSTLE– _

Cliff stared in disbelief at the smoking metal, convinced that he was definitely not seeing things – the topmost slab was wiggling, as though there was something _alive_ squirming underneath it, but whatever it was lacked the strength to shift the chunks of steel in the way!

As if in a trance, Cliff obligingly reached out and shoved the metal aside with a single push.

_ >>FGHDKSGGHRLDPJHFHS!>> _

"Oh my GAWD – _mmmmmmph_!" Cliff bellowed as something spherical, green and reeking of cider suddenly shot out from the wreckage and latched onto his face, chittering excitedly and planting sloppy kisses all over his head.

_ >>PGOFJDHDJGOH_**…MUMMY!…**_ LDJFHGIPPSJGJH!>> _

------------------------------

Whew! That's enough insanity for now, I'm pooped! XD

The recipe Albel and the Crimson Scourge mangled is a real one which I found on a cooking site, except it's for a Champagne cake, not cider. The cake got rave reviews by all who baked it so if you're bored, you might want to try it. If it's any consolation, I doubt any of you would be able to screw it up as badly as Albel did. XD Here's the recipe – you can pick out all the steps that were done wrong!

**CHAMPAGNE CAKE:**

_2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour_

_3 teaspoons baking powder_

_1 teaspoon salt_

_2/3 cup butter_

_1 1/2 cups white sugar_

_3/4 cup champagne_

_6 egg whites_

1 - Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Butter a 10 inch round cake pan.

2 - In a large bowl, cream together butter and sugar until very light and fluffy. Sift flour, baking powder, and salt together, and then blend into creamed mixture alternately with champagne.

3 - In a large clean bowl, beat egg whites until stiff peaks form. Fold 1/3 of the whites into batter to lighten it, then fold in remaining egg whites. Pour into prepared pan.

4 - Bake at 350 degrees F (175 degrees C) for 25 to 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the cake comes out clean.

Two other things that went wrong but weren't mentioned: Albel and the Crimson Scourge completely forgot about baking powder so the cake would never have risen. Also, the Crimson Scourge greased a wooden bowl instead of a cake pan. The bowl would've caught on fire. Whoops. XD

------------------------------

Next chapter: "Two Hearts" – Fayt and Albel have a little one-on-one chat which helps Albel find his reasons for going through humiliation hell. And Cliff? Well, being stalked by a dessert starts posing a slight problem, but the program must go on! Step two imminent…


	6. Two hearts

Hey all, long time no see! Sorry that it took longer than usual to get this chapter out… I've been severely sidetracked in life due to my obsessive Albel/Fayt plushie project so everything from this fanfic to fanarts to my life in general has been put on hold as of late. :Insert guilty look here: I also wasn't expecting this chapter to be longer than the previous one but that's the way the rambling goes, I s'ppose. This one sits at 8000+ words so I hope that makes up for the time delay! XD

Oh and the title for this chapter comes from a David Arkenstone song of the same name, which is a very pretty instrumental love song with two violins. I am such a sap. XD

------------------------------

**CHAPTER 5/ "Two Hearts"**

"Shoo. Scat. Good cake. I mean… BAD cake! Very very bad!" Cliff was all but flailing as he scurried down the corridor to the last intact kitchen of the _Diplo_. He was partially placing his hope for reprieve on the combination of Fayt's diplomatic skill and Albel's knack for random acts of homicide, but there was only so much they could do against living cakes. Plus it seemed to be a baby, and infanticide had never shot to popularity in the far and distant future irregardless of whether the child in question consisted mostly of green sponge, cider and bunny pee. Cliff groaned, slowing his speed to a measly hobble as he felt the cake drooling its inner juices on his expensive leather pants. _Oh God not the pants!_

_>>Pfjdhdgfjs - :) - hfidfgfyud?>> _

"HOME," Cliff tried again, shaking his leg in vain as he tried to get the cake to budge. It might've been a baby by ordinary cake society standards, but the cake had a mouth like a heavy duty suction pump. Either that or Cliff's ankles were sexier than he'd bothered to give them credit for. "H-O-O-O-ME. Go back to your... your oven, yes yes that's it, OVEN. Nice and warm and toasty and-!"

_ >>Rdjhgghfjdhs - :( - djfhhastwhf!>> _

"I don't care if it's been blown up!" Cliff sniffed.

_>>Qdauegnvmdd - :D - ajdeugjshs!>> _

"Really? You think I'm hot?" Cliff suddenly preened, flicking his blonde hair back like he'd always seen chicks do in shampoo commercials. "OW!" He yelled as the cake nipped him with its newly sprouted baby teeth.

_ >>Wfjfhghd - :O - agsjfjgyhe.>> _

"Oh. You mean in the literal sense…" Cliff said sheepishly, making a mental note to find time later for fixing the puncture in the inflatable pillow which was his male ego. "Er… look kid, I'm no oven. And I'm not your mummy either. Sorry."

_>>Ghshsgg…? - :( - ahdgfg?>> _The cake looked thoroughly miserable now, and Cliff scratched his head awkwardly.

"You want to know who your mummy is? Well, your _real_ mummy is a cross dressing emo guy who's got the massive hots for a genetically modified biological weapon and your _other _mummy is a big magic sword with permanent PMS that hops a lot and talks to people in their heads and… and… um…"

Cliff trailed off numbly, ignoring the enormous anime sweatdrop that plopped from his brow and wound up soaking through his Klausian prescription shoes. The cake peered up at him inquiringly with all of the pure innocence possessed by pastry.

"Actually now that I think about it… _wanna be adopted?" _ Cliff offered weakly.

_>>APFOGJGDHA - :DDDDDDDDDDD - PAODJFHGD!>> _It was clearly a suggestion whose time had come!_  
_

------------------------------

_Meanwhile…_

The droning symphony created by the internal motors of whitegoods bounced off the impossibly white walls of the _Diplo_ crew's kitchen, adding to the overall air of sterility which emanated from this unassuming space on the ship. The cool, clean ambience would be found peaceful by most… but maybe a little _too _peaceful for the average person to feel completely at peace, ironically speaking. The silence was far too perfect so as to be utterly fragile. After all, this was a space which virtually invited hustle, bustle and grating sounds. Then again, perhaps it was too much to ask for at such an ungodly hour of the morning, when only hardcore Justice League fans would be up to watch the latest installment on whatever luckless commercial station had bought the franchise having mistakenly believed it to be a match for certain anime shows involving gravity-defying hairstyles and card types featuring extraordinarily original monster types like the Electric Conger. (/rant.) As of now though, the early hours of rosy fingered dawn are officially the time at which clueless-yet-totally-meant-for-each-other yaoi pairings rise, dine and hopefully catch some early morning nookie. Hark, here comes one such pair now!

The aforementioned silence shattered as it gave way to the gentle swish of the kitchen's sliding door, followed by light footfalls generated by a stunningly accomplished young man as he gracefully stepped across the threshold and conveniently paused under the kitchen's brightest fluorescent tube. The bath of artificial light set off a plethora of cerulean highlights in the youngster's luxurious mass of blue hair, while the bare skin of his slender limbs seemed to flare up with a milky external glow. At the same time, his almost feminine figure formed an unbroken pillar of carefully concealed masculine strength. There was no mistaking the hints of wiry muscle beneath white canvas, or the young man's natural air of alertness borne from lengthy time spent practicing the ways of a warrior. But as he tilted his head slightly to regard the facilities spread before him, one thing became very clear – it was the eyes which were capable of breaking hearts.

No doubt about it. Fayt Leingod was undeniably beautiful, and his genuine innocence regarding that particular aspect of himself only served to add several more notches to his "Cleo's Bachelor of the Year" score sheet. Fortunately, there was no shortage of admirers secretly wishing to divulge him with that fact. _Un_fortunately, bigamy is yet to be legalized even though magpies everywhere have been setting an example for centuries, so the dear readers need only concern themselves with one of these said admirers and the rest can go to hell, quite bluntly.

Speaking of the devil…

"Looks like we're the first ones here, Albel!" Fayt cheerfully observed as he stepped away from the door and immediately homed in on the fridge. Pulling it open, he bent over and gave the contents a good scrutiny. "What would you like? There's still some bacon left over from yesterday, fruit, jam…"

At that moment, Albel could name several things he would _dearly _have liked but doubted were contained in that fridge, considering no fridge in existence would carry blowtorches, diamond tipped pliers or any other tool capable of breaking swords into itty bitty pieces unless we're talking about the fridge of a mad scientist. The swordsman was looking undeniably frazzled and past his use-by date, not to mention feeling like a dirty troll compared to the soap-scented, spotless embodiment of Destruction who seemed to have an uncanny ability to repel the atoms in dirt. However, Albel's state was understandable considering the Crimson Scourge had been singing some loud drivel about bottles on a wall in his head for the past quarter of an hour, and was only up to bottle fifty two.

"A chair…" Albel muttered in reply to Fayt's query, shuffling over to the nearest stool at the counter and practically falling onto it. As Albel rested his elbows on the cool steel of the table top, he couldn't help but shoot an envious glance at the immaculately clean and freshly-laundered Fayt Leingod who obviously led a charmed life of some sort, considering he'd never been subjected to the mental torture of having a telepathic connection to a talking sword which couldn't hold its drink. Albel's envy quickly evaporated into acute interest though, as he realised that the only visible part of Fayt from his vantage point was the pretty curve of the young man's rump sticking out behind the fridge door.

_>>As certain individuals on certain planets would put it, you oh Wicked One, are a "baka perv"!>> _

Albel started in surprise and no small amount of embarrassment. "Sober now, are we?" he hissed under his breath, trying to change the subject.

_>>Stop trying to change the subject, but yes, I'm feeling rather better.>> _The Crimson Scourge replied haughtily, and sure enough some characteristic crispness was returning to its previously sluggish mind voice. Albel felt mixed feelings. It had been a bit of a joyous occasion when the Crimson Scourge had temporarily lost its ability to nag like a forty year old divorced housewife. On the upside, the sword had stopped singing. Hmm. It looked like things weren't _all_ bad.

_>>So what's your next move?>> _The Crimson Scourge asked abruptly.

"I intend to eat something," Albel replied absent-mindedly, half distracted by the tantalising sight of Fayt-bum which kept tormenting him out of the corner of his eye.

_>>Don't be such a moron.>> _The sword said scathingly, now sounding completely like its old self as it rediscovered its opinions on things. >>_This is the chance you've been waiting for, isn't it? It's just you and the young one with no outside interference. Huh. Despite it being total overkill, it looks like blowing up that kitchen was the best thing you could ever have done.>> _

Oh no, Albel definitely wasn't going to let that remark go! "Don't give me that, you maggot _stick!_ Who lit the firecrackers in the first place?" Albel's eyes flared with an unhealthy amount of choler as he yanked the Crimson Scourge off his shoulders and gave it a good hard shake. The sword reacted by squawking an elaborate obscenity in his head. Even though its threat was for all means physically impossible, it would've provided a fantastic spin off fic if the sword could've managed to get Albel in the particular position it was voicing… _ >>Stop it, I'm still woozy. I'll throw up on you, just you see if I don't!>> _

"Like hell you will…" Albel retorted, tossing the complaining Crimson Scourge aside and thus rudely ending the conversation. Truth be told, he had no idea how to answer the sword's question anyway. The whole breakfast thing hadn't been foreseen by anyone and he certainly didn't suspect it to count as part of Cliff's program, so how the hell was he supposed to know what to do next? Albel frowned, feeling a bit disgusted at how thoroughly his knack for initiative had flown out one of the ship's portholes. Come on, a bloke who struts around in gay-pride purple and flaunts his fabulous pegs twenty-four seven should _never _be accused of being more frigid than a frostbitten shop dummy, but Albel just couldn't clamp down on his jumpy nerves. Dang and blast, he simply couldn't figure out why Fayt always had that effect on him! This whole love business was proving to be such an infernal thing. Albel didn't appreciate the jelly feelings that came with it and the complete loss of mental traction. He _hated _feeling unsure.

Getting Cliff to "help", irregardless of how hare-brained that decision was, had at least brought a bit of structure to the muddle which was Albel's state of mind. Now however, thrown completely out of range of Cliff's safety net, Albel felt as though he was bogged in the deep end. It was these unpredictable, unplanned moments which he'd been secretly dreading… moments where he'd have no choice but to say and do things on the spur of the moment, most likely to his own detriment, and most likely winding up looking like some sort of bumbling nitwit. For all the grace and tact that Albel possessed on the battlefield, he had absolutely zero faith in the more mine-filled battlefield of courtship which placed so much reliance on _words!_

Albel inwardly groaned. Just saying "Good morning" made people salute and flee in his wake. Conversations R Us he definitely wasn't… but maybe Fayt wouldn't be feeling up for talking much either.

The moody swordsman flicked his bangs back and scowled to himself as he stabbed himself with his self-defeatist thoughts. The scowl quickly lifted though as he registered Fayt leaning over the counter across him, amusement written all over his boyish face as he opened his mouth to speak. Bleh. So much for that earlier hope.

"That's really cool, you know," Fayt said with a smile.

"What is?" Albel asked, bewildered.

"You and the Crimson Scourge!" Fayt explained, pointing to where the sword was huffily ignoring Albel by turning the flat of its blade on him. "The way you're able to talk to each other with no one listening in. You two must be pretty good friends, right?"

Albel snorted at the same time the sword guffawed in his head. "What makes you think that? Being tied at the waist isn't as "cool" as you think. It gets rather suffocating at times."

Fayt shrugged, leaning back a bit to open a nearby bread box and fishing out four slices. "Logically, to be linked that close it just seems like you'd have to get along otherwise neither of you could stand it. And I think it's kind of good for you, actually."

Albel raised an eyebrow, which Fayt noticed despite being preoccupied with opening a jar of strawberry jam. "It's just that you don't seem like the sort of person who talks easily. Sorry, that's not right… I mean, you don't waste time with idle talk, you know? It probably helps having the Crimson Scourge around. That way, you always have someone to talk to without worrying about what other people might think. It's nice having that sort of outlet."

Albel didn't lower his eyebrow but instead chose to raise the other one, watching in silence as Fayt completed one sandwich by applying a generous dollop of jam.

_ >>The young one's right, I hope you realise.>> _The Crimson Scourge suddenly interjected. _ >>But don't go moody on me. You're fully capable of being as open with others as you are with me, as long as you don't shoot yourself down before you even start. Chatting isn't supposed to be planned. Just talk to him damn it, or I'll stab you in the foot.>> _

"Since when did you become such an expert?" Albel felt compelled to ask Fayt, feeling a bit taken back at that piece of early morning analysis. He'd never dreamed that Fayt would actually _bother _expending brain cells to try and read him in detail, and the thought was sort of… well, gratifying. Then again out of all the walking, talking bipeds on the _Diplo_, it had always been Fayt alone who had the patience to learn what music Albel moved to. Fayt's observations shouldn't have come as a surprise, but Albel was still stubbornly denying any inkling of interest on Fayt's part which might involve something more than friendship. _Bah, the absurdity of such whimsies…_

"I'll leave the crusts on. It's supposed to be healthier," Fayt mused, almost to himself. He pressed the two bread halves together before fixing his beautiful eyes on Albel's expectant face, effectively taking Albel's breath away for the umpteenth time that morning and prompting the swordsman to inwardly cuss like a sailor. This infatuation was obviously having a crippling effect, if just one green glance could pin him like a moth on a collector's frame.

"My dad was a pretty big figure in politics when I was a kid. All that research he was doing on Symbology led to breaking developments, and was outclassing older scientific fields which didn't really hold well with some government agencies." Fayt set the first sandwich on a small plate, and took up his butter knife again as he readied the last two slices. "Reading people was something my dad had to become good at - it just came with his job. I hung around his labs a lot in the government's scientific department, and shady characters would come and go all the time. I got used to figuring out who the creeps were."

Albel's curiosity was piqued. "What gave them away?"

"I'm not sure… probably their body language. They'd look anywhere but straight at you, and they always dressed like they had something to hide," Fayt replied as he pushed the finished sandwich over to Albel's end of the counter. With a playful grin, Fayt pointedly looked at Albel's egg stained pink apron and the revealing purple attire that lay beneath it. "I'm glad _you're_ not like that!"

"I'd gut you for that remark if you weren't feeding me, insolent worm," Albel growled but his threat was totally devoid of venom. On the contrary he didn't mind at all, especially since Fayt's response to his put-out expression was an irresistible throaty laugh. The sound was like lark song to Albel's ears and he could feel a smile of his own tugging at his lips, which came as quite a surprise. The last time someone had dared to laugh at his expense, the poor unfortunate had become so closely acquainted with the pointy ice formations at the base of a snow canyon that several geologists had died of jealousy. This time, Albel couldn't bring himself to feel angry. Maybe Fayt's easy going banter was infectious, but it actually didn't feel all that bad to take a joke for once. Albel didn't feel like admitting it though, and he hid his burgeoning good humour by making a show of taking a bite out of the proffered sandwich.

"Is it good?" Fayt enquired with a hint of mischief, knowing full well that Albel would vehemently deny it even if it was the most godly jam sandwich in the history of The Federation.

"Barely adequate," Albel replied right on cue, his tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of jam on his bottom lip. Fayt couldn't help but grin at the charming sight of the grumpy swordsman enjoying a bit of strawberry conserve, but there were still other things to take care of and he reluctantly brought his mind back to them.

"Er… I don't know if the Crimson Scourge eats, but if it does then would it like anything?" Fayt ventured while he finished off the second sandwich.

Albel nearly choked on a mouthful of bread as the Crimson Scourge suddenly crowed with delight in the space between his ears. _>> No one's ever asked me that before!>> _The sword crooned. _>>What a darling, polite boy. Tell him I said that. Go on.>> _

"Tell him yourself," Albel mumbled as he chewed, brushing away crumbs which had fallen onto his lap. Fayt looked at him questioningly, and Albel helpfully gestured towards the Crimson Scourge which was now enthusiastically hopping around the counter on a journey towards Fayt's nearest leg. The surprised lurch which Fayt gave a few seconds later marked the precise moment of touchdown.

"Um… i-i-it's really affectionate!" Fayt stammered, not quite sure what to make of the Crimson Scourge as it rubbed against his leg like a contented kitten, and Albel winced as he picked up on the sounds of its soppy cooing. Well, if things ever took off between him and Fayt, at least he knew he had the sword's blessing. After all, _nothing _would be worse for Fayt than to be lumped with a disapproving ancient weapon as an in-law.

"It likes you," Albel pointed out, feeling his cheeks turn warm as he said those words. That made… what, one million and one members of the official Fayt fan club now? "It must mean you're speci-…"

Albel's cheeks were no longer warm but now hot enough to fry eggs on as his voice trailed off, totally horrified that the words had just…. slipped _out! _SOMETHING must have been in that jam to loosen his tongue.Oh dear Apris.Had Fayt heard? Albel readied himself to perform ritual Seppuku if he had, though it looked like he didn't have a sword for the deed anyway since it was too busy making out with Fayt's leg bone. Fayt blinked a few times, looking as though he had just registered what Albel had said, but was forced to turn his attention back to the sword and awkwardly patted it on the hilt. "I guess you're not really hungry then, huh?"

Albel stuck his head around the edge of the counter and leveled a jealous, warning glare at the Crimson Scourge. Roughly translated by handy Glare-Cams, the glare roughly yelled something along the lines of "Cease and desist dry humping my would-be boyfriend!" and luckily for all involved, the sword could get a hint when it saw one. With one last kissy noise which only Albel could hear (much to his disgust) the Crimson Scourge released Fayt and returned to its master.

_>>Such a nice boy! Good choice for once, oh Wicked One. If you don't hurry up and woo him I'll just have to snag him myself!>> _The sword cracked up.

With Fayt in earshot, Albel was unable to tell the Crimson Scourge precisely what he thought about that last comment which was a pity, since he'd planned on using lots of colourful four letter words. Instead, he compromised by concentrating on trying to divert the blood from his cheeks back to his brain as opposed to any other bodily organ. It wasn't the easiest of tasks, especially since Fayt was only an arm's reach away and delicately licking at remnants of jam from the tip of one slender finger. Albel felt his nose twitch. Forget brains and organs. His blood flow had officially mutinied and set up camp in the cramped quarters of his nasal passage.

Fayt paused in his act of dabbing at the breadcrumbs on his plate, taking in the sight of Albel's doubled-over figure with some concern. "Hey, are you-"

"I'm fine!"

Fayt peered closer and tried again. "Is your nose dripping…?"

"NO!" Albel hollered, scrabbling furiously at his face while his vital systems started shutting down from the shock of sheer humiliation. Fayt looked as though he was going to say something else, but the Gods decided to take impromptu pity on Albel by cueing his hemorrhaging predicament with the whistling of the kitchen kettle. It was a noisy appliance and Fayt leapt off his stool to shut it up, giving Albel sufficient time to clean up his nose. The Crimson Scourge wasn't helping much with its endless chortling.

_>>Strength, oh Wicked One! You're doing quite well, so don't screw it up now.>> _

"If this is your idea of good…!" There was considerable menace in Albel's remark but the implied threat had no impact, since pinching one's nose while talking does tinny things to the human voice. "Plus, this is stupid. _I'm _the one who should've been making breakfast. I've already messed up the program!"

_ >>I suspect that was for the benefit of mankind.>> _The Crimson Scourge said drily. _ >>But if it bothers you that much, why don't you just go up there and help the young one?>> _

Albel snuck a look at Fayt, who was now standing at one of the kitchen counters pouring hot water into two Bugs Bunny mugs, and noticeably paled. "No. You saw what happened earlier. I'd probably accidentally kill him with a bagel…"

_>>Rubbish.>> _The Crimson Scourge scoffed. _ >>Look, I'll even tell you what to say. Just feign ignorance and the young one will chat up a storm, since he's perpetually helpful. You can't go past the classic "What are you doing?" line. Trust me. Now do it.>> _

Albel still hesitated.

_ >>DO IT.>> _The Crimson Scourge said firmly, raising itself off the floor and giving Albel an almighty shove in the ass. He uttered an angry half-yell as he was sent stumbling off the top of the stool, and only just stopped short of the shiny lino floor by catching hold of the edge of the counter.

Fayt turned at the commotion and cocked one eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

Albel blinked in consternation. "That was my line!"

The Crimson Scourge executed a mental face palm, however Fayt wasn't aware of Albel's idiocy and simply beckoned him over. "I made us some plain green tea but it's still too hot to drink. Want to help me make pancakes while we wait?"

"Fine," Albel conceded against his better judgment, flashing an annoyed glance at the Crimson Scourge over his shoulder and blocking out the loudest of its mental cheering. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he could've _sworn _he'd just caught a glimpse of the sword parading up and down the floor with a cheerleader pompom. This was hardly the best time to start hallucinating.

Albel hovered at the counter helplessly as he watched Fayt open overhead cupboard doors, rummaging around for bowls and utensils, and eventually emerging with a box emblazoned with bright yellow words proclaiming "Pancake Mix". The boy obviously knew his way around a kitchen extremely well, moving to the domestic dance with the same sort of easy grace which he reserved for battle.

"Could you please get some eggs and butter from the fridge?" Fayt requested as he started measuring cups of mix into a large bowl.

Albel's life literally flashed before his eyes at the mention of those dastardly ingredients which had contributed to his nearly getting his head blown off. Even the Crimson Scourge looked a little unsettled at the prospect of Albel being in charge of eggs again – after all, the yolk in his hair had only just solidified into a thick layer of crust so it was a bit early to be going after another whole carton. If any further mishaps occurred, the whole situation could turn into a hairdressing expedition capable of putting a barber's kids through college, but Albel had never been one to turn down challenges in front of people he was smitten with. And since Fayt was the only person Albel had ever been smitten with… well, there was just no backing out now, was there? Steeling himself, Albel obediently strode over to the fridge…

"No Albel, not that compartment!" Fayt laughed, hurrying over just as Albel started fishing out familiar looking vials filled with bright yellow liquid.

"But… this is butter, isn't it?" Albel asked in astonishment. Fayt shook his head and gently extricated one of the vials from Albel's hand, turning it over and pointing at the faint writing on its brown label.

"The kitchen fridges double up as freezers for the research division of the _Diplo_," Fayt said in way of explanation. "They've got all sorts of human and animal samples stored away, collected from different planets. These ones are… um…"

"Are what?" Albel demanded suspiciously.

Fayt took the rest of the vials away from Albel and carefully placed them back in their compartment at the back of the fridge. "Urine samples," he said quickly, trying not to laugh again in case Albel felt his eyesight was being insulted, but Albel was feeling waaaay too mortified to feel offended by anything. The Crimson Scourge returned his guilty glance with one of its own, now fully aware of how close they'd come to making Fayt taste the galaxy's very first pee cake.

_ >>I Can't Believe It's Not Butter…>> _The sword muttered, completely deadpan.

"Don't worry about it," Fayt advised Albel as he fished out the real tub of butter from the fridge. "Just bring the eggs and I'll show you how you how to make pancakes. I don't think Elicoor uses instant mix… or do you?"

Albel shook his head. "How would I know? The kitchen was none of _my _concern."

"You must have learnt how to cook at least something," Fayt protested as he cracked an egg into a smaller bowl. "I thought that'd be the sort of thing army guys would learn?"

"Well then you're living under a misapprehension," Albel said testily. "In a kingdom like mine, there's not so much emphasis on cooking as there is on _foraging."_

"Ah. Sorry…" Fayt said quietly with an understanding nod, suddenly remembering the bad winters and poor harvests which had tormented Airyglyph for generations and driven the country to war. "Cooking is basic knowledge on Earth, so I keep forgetting it's not always the case in other parts of the universe. Did… did I offend you?"

"No," Albel said gruffly, his frown softening as he picked up on Fayt's genuine concern. "Actually, I've tried cooking before but things… didn't… really work out." Visions of booger mix, exploding ovens and the words "UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE CENTURY" scrolled past Albel's vision in bright neon lights, and he turned to narrow his eyes at the Crimson Scourge who was whistling an innocent tune by the counter. Since when had the blasted sword specialised in flashbacks using SFX?

"That's okay! Pancakes are easy, so I'll show you all the steps and you'll be able to make them whenever you want!" Fayt said with enthusiasm, looking pleased at the idea of helping Albel out. "First… since we're not the only ones eating, we're going to use more mix then usual. See how I measured six cups?"

Albel peered at the mountain of powder sitting in the bowl and sniffed. "So? Now what?"

"Now we've got to prepare the eggs and butter. One egg and one stick of butter for each cup of mix. I've already cracked one egg, so it's your turn." Fayt flipped open the egg carton and offered one to Albel.

Unfortunately, Albel's interpretation of the word "crack" was leaning more towards "smoosh", as evidenced by the way he readied himself to slam the entire egg onto the countertop. Fayt yelped, darted forward and grabbed Albel's arm in mid-descent in a marvelous display of award-winning reflexes all under 2.1 seconds, causing the crowd to go absolutely _wild!_

Right then, the egg blunder was the furthest thing from Albel's mind. His breath caught somewhere in the back of his throat as he realised just how _close _Fayt suddenly was, close enough for Albel to get a whiff of the sweet scent of apple shampoo wafting from Fayt's freshly washed hair. Despite the cold filtered air circulating around the kitchen, Fayt's hands were pleasantly warm where they were wrapped around the bare skin of Albel's upper arm, the fingers long and supple and curling perfectly to fit the contours of the limb. Albel could only imagine what it would be like if those hands were to fan out wide and touch him all over, fingers taut and splayed. Willpower (not to mention the prying fangirl presence of the Crimson Scourge) was all that prevented Albel from snatching Fayt's wrists and forcefully dragging the boy's hands down the planes of his body…

Fayt, in the meantime, was_ more _than aware of how near they suddenly were, and the ivy green of his eyes snapped upwards through the gaps of his fringe to lock with Albel's red. The teen's face was a virginal picture of surprise, and to Albel's immense delight, a pretty ribbon of blush magically materialised across the bridge of Fayt's nose.

"N-no, like this," Fayt stuttered with a step backwards that reeked of great effort, taking the egg and neatly splitting the shell in two against the rim of a bowl.

Albel blinked rapidly after Fayt had stepped away, taking all his apple scented warmth with him and reverting to cracking eggs with a little more vigour then what was necessary. _Something_ had just happened between them, Albel knew for sure. There was no mistaking the flash of disappointment which Albel had read in Fayt's face the moment he turned away, or the startling clarity which had risen in his eyes when their gazes had fused. Maybe… just maybe… this whole crazy venture wasn't in vain. The wonder of it all! Cliff's insane cooking scheme possibly bearing fruit!

_>>Nuh-uh. Not so fast Romeo.>> _The Crimson Scourge's said sweetly, cutting through the heady buzz of Albel's thoughts like the holy plow of the land of Reality Check. _ >>The young one's nerves are shot so keep those busy hands to yourself, hmm? Let him think things through in his own time. Molestation isn't the most tactful courting technique in your arsenal!>> _

The finger Albel brandished in the Crimson Scourge's direction spoke wonders about what he thought about the sword's line of reasoning, but inwardly he wondered if it was a teensy bit correct. Sorta. Maybe just a bit. Not that he'd ever admit it. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Fayt off prematurely, not when things were looking rather peachy, and if that meant having to wait a little while longer to get the boy in his arms then… dammit, he'd just have to put up with it. If Albel had been born with the dreaded sulky-Sophia gene he'd be pouting by now, but Albel ze Wicked does not ever pout, on Earth as it is in heaven Amen.

"What will you do with the eggs after this? Cook them?" Albel deliberately forced his attention back to the cooking, which was easier now that the cloying remains of warmth that Fayt had left on his arm were dissipating.

Fayt looked relieved. (Okay fine, the damn sword was right.) "Not yet. This is just mix preparation, and we still have to melt the butter. Do you know how to use the oven?"

Albel shook his head and with the flair of a magician, Fayt made a small saucepan miraculously appear. The Crimson Scourge had been happily watching the prospective couple much like an adult chaperone, but now it leapt up as though an electric current had been circuited through its blade. _>>Don't do it, oh Wicked One! Think of the children! Of fluffy baby bunnies! Kittens playing with their motheeeers…>> _

"They look complicated but they're actually pretty easy to work with!" Fayt was busily chattering away, not aware at first of the ugly faces Albel was pulling at the Crimson Scourge or the equally rude contortions the sword was pulling in rebuttal. "Albel? Are you listening?"

Obviously not. Fayt looked up from where he was fiddling with the oven settings, just in time to catch Albel's all patented "SCREW YOO AND YO' MAMA TOO" expression which involved a lot of intricate face wrinkle work and out-of-this-world eyeball crossing. A quick glance in the other direction revealed the Crimson Scourge bending its blade into the shape of something which looked suspiciously like a mock copy of Albel with a pair of buttocks in place of a head.

Fayt coughed and tentatively tugged at Albel's arm sleeve, causing the swordsman to snap out it with a jolt. "Eh? What now?"

"This is a gas cooktop, so all you have to do is turn this dial for the gas and hold the igniter button," Fayt continued, carrying out the steps as he said them. A bright blue and orange flame burst into life in one of the burner's rings, and Fayt set the saucepan on top. "Here, hold the handle and you can stir the butter in."

Albel took the handle cautiously as though expecting the pan to morph into the ultimate cookware of doom, since nothing had fared particularly well for him so far where cooking was concerned. He didn't know where that fire had come from either, and at the mere press of a button too! This was only small-fry technology, and Albel couldn't even start to fathom what other contraptions and gadgets existed back on Fayt's "Earth" home planet. He'd heard the others talk about Earth, seen it from space on computer screen read outs, witnessed the Executioner's assault on the shimmering blue and green planet… it was treated for all purposes like some sort of Eden, and that brought a nervous feeling to Albel's stomach which had nothing to do with sickness. His earlier fear resurfaced like a drowned corpse in a swamp – there was absolutely nothing important enough in Fayt's life to stop him from wanting to go home. Away from all the crew, away from all the post-Luther madness, away from… Albel.

Fayt came over from where he'd been doing something with a dull knife, and dropped several sticks of butter into the steaming pan. The preheated surface snapped and crackled in reaction, and Albel instinctively grabbed a wooden spoon from a utensil tray and started stirring the rapidly dissolving butter.

"There, you're doing it! Cooking, that is," Fayt said happily, trying not to laugh at the trippy sight of Albel in a pink apron looking like some sort of 50's housewife preparing a dinner roast. He took the bowl of cracked eggs and started beating them into an orange froth with a metal whisk. "This is kinda fun, huh?"

"Menial, more like," Albel countered with a withering look, even though he secretly didn't mind having an excuse to stand this close to Fayt. "Why did you learn to cook anyway?"

"Out of necessity," Fayt replied, gently stepping in and taking the saucepan from Albel's hand to pour the heated butter into the beaten egg mixture. "My parents worked long hours and I don't like microwave dinners, so it was either cook or starve. Sophia gave me lessons every now and then."

Albel was curious about what microwave dinners were, but he immediately bristled at the mention of his rival's name and completely forgot to ask. _"Her?" _he spat. "At the rate that maggot tries to stuff your face, I'm amazed she even got around to showing you how the food _got_ there!"

There was real venom in Albel's voice now, potent enough to make a King Cobra cry. Fayt looked a little puzzled. He knew that Sophia and Albel were utterly polar personalities, but that less than kind outburst had just popped out of nowhere. Fayt kept stirring the melted butter into the whisked eggs as he thought about how to reply, but eventually he shrugged and settled on something forthright.

"Why don't you like Sophia?"

Albel's eyes flashed red murder. "I've no liking for sniveling worms… and quite frankly, I don't know why _you _do."

"Sophia and I are friends, Albel. Friends like friends," Fayt said matter-of-factly.

"Oh? It certainly seems a little more than just _that_. Don't feed me such nonsense! I don't suffer tomfoolery." Albel sounded mostly disgusted but there was a trace of bitterness to his voice which Fayt couldn't help but notice, and it puzzled him even more. It was almost as though Albel wanted to be reassured about something! But what? The absence of any romantic developments between Fayt and Sophia? That wasn't hard to do... it was Albel's underlying reasons which Fayt couldn't figure out at all. As far as he could remember, Albel had never said or done anything to suggest that he had any strong anti-Sophia sentiments. He'd always treated her with the same amount of disrespect he showed everyone else, but it looked like something had cropped up to make him single her out for persecution…

"Albel, it's not nonsense when I say there's nothing going on between Sophia and I," Fayt said slowly. "What have you seen or heard that makes you think there is? And why should it matter anyway?"

Albel's jaw noticeably clenched. "It's just like you said, isn't it? You're friends. You've been friends for a long time. Do you expect others to believe that feelings have never grown between you?"

"I know that's everyone's natural assumption, but assumptions are called that for a reason – they're not always right," Fayt said with a wry grin. He momentarily turned away to pick up the bowl containing the pancake mix and dumped it into the butter and egg mixture, then pivoted back on his heel to face Albel as he stirred. "I can't speak for Sophia. I… I know she feels something, even though I haven't gone out of my way to lead her on… but I sorted out what I feel a long time ago, and Sophia's _not_ the one for me. We're friends and that's the way I want it to stay."

Albel's eyebrows lifted so high that any onlookers would've sworn they'd been yanked up with skyhooks. "You can't be serious. That maggot can cook, clean and sew. I thought most men would want a dutiful homemaker wife!"

"Most men… like you Albel?" Fayt said teasingly, hiding a smile behind his hand as two pink dots of embarrassment appeared on Albel's cheeks.

"_No,"_ Albel denied stiffly. "I… already know what I want."

"Really? That's great!" Fayt said earnestly, failing to detect the pained expression which flickered across Albel's features because he was preoccupied with scooping some of the mix into the saucepan. The conversation experienced a time-out as Fayt tended to the bubbling mix, scraping the inner walls of the pan with a spatula to prevent unnecessary sticking before expertly flipping the half-cooked pancake.

"Hey Fayt."

It wasn't every day Fayt heard Albel call him by name, and he readied himself for what was evidently a serious question. "Yes?"

"What do you want then, if it's not that walking excuse for a worm?" Albel demanded, one hand imperiously placed on his hip.

Fayt didn't reply at first, mulling over an answer as he tipped the completed pancake onto a waiting plate. He continued to think as he poured the second batch of mix into the steaming pan and idly watched it congeal, his fine blue eyebrows knitted with concentration. Albel fidgeted impatiently while the ever resourceful Crimson Scourge readied a pad of paper and a pen.

"I guess I… I want to be someone's reason," Fayt finally concluded with a nod of conviction.

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" Albel blurted out in the wake of such an anti-climatic response. "A reason for what?"

"Just what it sounds like." Fayt shrugged. "I want to be someone's reason for… for them to go out of their way to do something good. Like a change for the better, for them wanting to love someone…"

"How ridiculously sentimental."

"But it's important, isn't it? If you had no reason to be with someone to the point where you'd do anything for them, then you'd get nowhere fast. There'd be nothing to pin the two people down and justify their being together," Fayt argued.

Albel stayed silent, so Fayt kept on going as he tested the consistency of the second pancake. "I think I realised how important reasons are after what happened at Moonbase. Things just didn't make _sense _up until then, and I always felt so mad because no one would tell me anything when I asked them "Why?" But it really helped finding out what my dad's reasons were for doing what he did to me, because now I have a reason to keep fighting. There're people out there who need us to face the Creator, and really, I think that's the biggest reason keeping me going: the thought that the lives of so many people are riding on our success or failure, because all those people can't possibly save themselves."

Fayt scraped the pancake off the pan to land neatly on top of the first as he continued. "I don't really like the thought of being a weapon, and facing the Creator scares me a lot. I'd never be doing what I'm doing now if I wasn't being spurred by a reason. Can you see how powerful reasons are now?"

"Bah. It's too early in the morning for this sort of prattle," Albel grumbled dismissively, but beneath his frowning exterior, he felt his heart quicken as his senses resonated strangely to Fayt's words, detecting an unexpected kinship. _I'd never be doing what I'm doing now_ _if I wasn't being spurred by a reason…_

The Crimson Scourge had picked up on something too, and it hopped a little closer to the action. _>>Reasons are often closely affiliated with sacrifices, usually where the promised result is especially dear. Tell me Oh Wicked One, what your reason was for accepting that blonde ape's program which leaves you far from dignified?>> _

After being reassured that Fayt was still busy flipping pancakes, Albel discreetly sidled over to the sword. "Well I'm at the end of my rope aren't I? I'd never have asked that fool for help if I could win Fayt on my own."

_ >>Wrong answer, try again.>> _The Crimson Scourge said immediately.

"I'm not here to be interrogated!" Albel whispered fiercely with restrained temper, checking again to see if Fayt was giving any indication of being able to overhear him.

_ >>Oh yes you are.>> _The Crimson Scourge countered firmly. _>>Getting dunked in that cider was bad enough, but you're also making my hilt hurt with all that indecision I can hear in your head! Don't think I didn't pick up on all your worrying earlier. You're STILL thinking that the whole program is a waste of time. Deal with it now, since the young one's just shown you why it isn't.>> _

"What's there to deal with? He already said he doesn't have feelings for that pink maggot."

_ >>That's certainly cause for celebration, but I'm talking about something deeper. Interestingly enough, the blonde buffoon was perceptive enough to pick up on it… I'm quite impressed, since even I didn't figure out what he was up to until now. Go the root of your reason. The catalyst, you might say.>> _

"That's Fayt, obviously," Albel said scornfully without even thinking. "He's the reason for… for…" The Crimson Scourge said nothing as Albel trailed off, and if it only possessed facial features the gleam of its blade would've been sporting a very meaningful look.

"… for everything so far," Albel muttered in wonder, his normally hooded eyes widening as the lights turned on upstairs. "Me asking for help, the stupid cooking…"

_>>… and for anything else that rather crafty Klausian throws your way.>> _The Crimson Scourge added, looking pleased that its master wasn't such a hard knock after all. _>>A masterful strategy I must admit, centering the young one as the reason for all the humiliating tasks in the program which you'd never ordinarily do. It's the very thing the young one's looking for in a mate, and he'll fully appreciate all the sacrifices of pride you've made for his sake. Do you still think there's no point to it all, oh Wicked One?>> _

Albel shook his head in mute amazement, still unable to conceive that the goofy Cliff would be capable of scheming such wily things. Okay, he'd apparently been leader of Quark for a spell which should've given Albel a clue, but STILL… this was also the guy rumoured to have thought that a pistachio was some remote island in Earth's Mediterranean. Albel just couldn't figure Cliff out at all. Maybe the Klausian's brain cell count waxed and waned with moon phases.

"There's still one thing that could mess it all up," Albel pointed out, determined that he wouldn't fall into the alluring temptation of thinking optimistically. "What are the chances that Fayt will even stick around after the mission is over?"

_>>Well, that part's out of our hands. In that case, you'd better put on one hell of a show to convince him, no?>> _The Crimson Scourge said with an evil laugh.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" Albel growled irritably.

_>>Most fun I've had in the ten thousand years of my existence.>> _The Crimson Scourge smugly affirmed.

"Albel, it's ready!" Fayt suddenly called. Albel turned at both the sound of his name and the chink of plates, completely forgetting about everything else as he was greeted with the adorable sight of a smiling Fayt Leingod holding a plate of steaming pancakes aloft. After that enlightening conversation with the Crimson Scourge, Albel could confidently say that Fayt had never looked better… or more _domestic._ All the boy was missing was a white apron, head curlers and a checkered dress but Albel quickly killed that thought before it could grow to sexual maturity.

"Can you bring the tea over? My hands are full," Fayt asked, supporting the pancakes in one hand while balancing syrup, honey and butter in the crook of his other arm. Albel obediently crossed the floor to fetch the warm mugs and carried them over to the counter, where Fayt was already seated and arranging the servings.

Breakfast back in Airyglyph had always been an informal affair, consisting mostly of collecting rations from the kitchen to eat on the run and rarely involving seating arrangements. That type of formal dining was something Albel could only recall Woltar practicing, and even then it took place at his Kirlsa mansion as opposed to the castle which was a place reserved for work and more important ceremonies. Albel definitely felt that he could get used to sit-down breakfasts as he looked at the appealing spread and the company he was keeping. It had been a very long time since he'd experienced something so comfortably homy – the kitchen was filled with aromatic cooking smells, fresh hot food lay before him that _wasn't _crawling with weevils, and the currently-single-but-hopefully-not-for-long love of his life was sitting resplendently across the counter dipping a chunk of pancake into a saucer of honey. _Is this a vision of how it could be for me? _It was almost too good to hope for…

_>>Forget about dreaming. It's just not you. Work for it, which is precisely what you're doing anyway. Now stop thinking so much, eat your damn pancakes and if you don't compliment the cook, I'll figure out a way to bite you.>> _

The Crimson Scourge was pragmatic as always (and scary) but Albel needed no further prodding as he tucked into the steaming pancake stack which Fayt had carefully arranged for him. The first mouthful was warm, soft and deliciously gooey – almost like love in food incarnate – and Albel-the-perpetually-skinny found himself chewing with unfamiliar relish. Fayt was regarding him with watchful eyes, the same teasing smile from before playing at the edges of his lips.

"How about now? Is it good?"

Albel picked up his mug and took a lengthy sip of tea, positioning the cup in a way which hid the small grin which he was sporting at the irony of the question.

_In more ways than one…_

------------------------------

Hopefully that should mark the end of the more serious bits that I wanted to get out of the way – even though this fic is supposed to be crack, I figured that Albel still wouldn't be the sort to do such cracky things without some form of justification or motivation. XD My apologies for the one-sidedness as well, but explaining things from Fayt's point of view during any part of this fic will most likely spoil the plot… if that's not a clue that something sneaky's going on then I don't know what is. XD :Coughcoughcough:

Next chapter: "Step #2: Give gifts to your lover"! Shopping proves to be a bit too hard for a man who's not a born metrosexual, so how about an easy meaningful gift? Then again nothing's ever easy where Albel and the Crimson Scourge are involved! Expect multiple bunnies, problem gambling and cursed chogurt… Oo


	7. Step 2: Give gifts to your lover pt 1

Wow, it's been a while... :Guilty look: This past month has been rather hectic for a range of reasons, mostly involving the institution known as university which is the creation of the devil, I swear. XP Anyway this chapter took more than a week to piece together in between my timetable, and I am out of my mind with relief to have finally gotten it out of my hair since I could NOT concentrate on anything else with it lurking around! (Woohoo now I can start my assignments)

Like the first program step, this one ran away from me while laughing raucously, so it's also been broken up into two parts. XD Believe it or not this chapter is even longer than the previous one, just edging in at over 8570 words. :O I originally intended for it to be only half as long since I wasn't planning on Fayt playing any large role in this chapter but he still wormed his way in damn it, and stole the spotlight too. :p :Cough: The hardcore shopping starts in the next chapter, but I hope you all enjoy the preliminaries for now. XD Catch you on the flipside!

PS: Summoner-of-the-Silver-Wolf baked the chapter 4 cake. You're officially my new God. XD XD

PPS: The duel near the end was written to the accompaniment of the tunes "Ice cream" by M.I.K.E vs John "00" Fleming (M.I.K.E remix) and "Starsign" by Apoptygma Berzerk. Most excellent fighting music, if you can get your hands on them!

-----------------------------------

"**STEP #2: Give gifts to your lover" (part 1):**

_>>Flowers?>> _

Albel paused in front of the stall which the Crimson Scourge was gesturing towards, flicking his eyes disdainfully over the bouquets exploding over the rims of their damp wooden crates. The opportunistic stall keeper was already scurrying over to launch into some enthusiastic spiel reminiscent of 20th century used car salesmen, but was knocked to the ground from the force Albel used to glare a hole through his forehead.

"I don't do rainbows," Albel said disgustedly, sparing one last contemptuous look at the offensive perky colours before he turned away in a swirl of purple skirt and braided hair tails.

_>>I've heard the petunias are lovely at this time of year…!>> _The Crimson Scourge piped up, but its suggestion was drowned out as the roar of the market place washed over itself and Albel as they rejoined the flow of the crowd. Albel's scowl had been unwavering the very moment he'd stepped foot in Peterny, prompting a few whispered giggles from onlookers that someone obviously hadn't washed all the pepper from their undercover spice rack. Stringing them up on the Tidy Town sign hadn't really cheered Albel up by much though, because it couldn't change the fact that he hated shopping. _Despised _it more like! Getting in among a crowd and sharing interesting bacteria and body lice was hardly Albel's idea of a rollicking good time, and neither was haggling with shop keepers who looked as though they hadn't evolved beyond Neanderthal, if their percentage of body hair was anything to go by…

_>>Quite frankly I don't know what you're bitching about.>> _The Crimson Scourge snorted as it dangled awkwardly from the scabbard strapped to Albel's thigh. If Albel hated shopping, the sword hated the fact that in _order_ for him to shop, it had to be reduced to carry-wear due to the mass hysteria a self-propelled sword would create among the general populace. _>>It's been two hours already and you haven't bought a single thing. Has falling in love turned you into a Communist or what?>> _

"Easy for you to say," Albel snapped irritably as he elbowed another random maggot out of his way. The market place was packed and the aisles congested, and it was taking all of Albel's will power not to whip out the Crimson Scourge and carve an easy (albeit bloody) path through the pressing wall of human flesh. Squeezing into an empty pocket within the crowd, Albel drew another breath and voiced the famous dilemma which has plagued womankind ever since Eve bummed out and gave Adam that famous apple of d00mage. "It's _impossible _to buy something for a man!"

_>>Well you sailed straight past the bakery…>>_

"Day old cakes. Pathetic," Albel said shortly.

_>>… and the whole line of tailor stores.>> _

"They needed hands-on measurements. And anyway, all their wares looked like a herd of goats had vomited on them."

_>>The jewelers looked promising though, wouldn't you say? It's not too late to go back. You didn't kill anyone working there.>> _The Crimson Scourge's mind voice was virtually pleading now as it started running out of options.

"What, and make Fayt think I want to marry him already?" Albel scoffed in disbelief, but he couldn't resist pausing to mull over that rather appealing thought. He sobered pretty quickly when he remembered that all thoughts of weddings as of late had featured a running trend of Albel in ladyware.

_>>Craft dolls? Books? Writing materials? Show tickets?>> _The Crimson Scourge mustered up enough inspiration for one last desperate barrage against the brick wall of Albel's mind.

"Sacrificial effigies, more like. I doubt Fayt still reads books with _pictures. _He wouldn't want to write when he can type. "Elicoorian Belly-Dancing Mud Wrestlers – One Night Only Debacle" is _not _a cultural or intellectual pursuit, nor suitable date material!" Albel countered in that precise order.

_>>Alright… time out.>> _The Crimson Scourge said wearily. _>>I can't think while hanging off your leg. Go sit down.>> _

"Best suggestion you've had all day," Albel muttered, relieved to be putting some distance between himself and the body odours of the crowd, which were mostly leaning towards smells suggestive of sitting in the back of a manure wagon for several hours too long than what would be considered hygienic.

Albel cut through the two-way flow of human traffic and into the more peaceful setting of a residential side street, set with pretty cobblestones and ornate lamp posts in front of every door. At the end of the street was a tiny beauty spot overlooking a section of the Palmira Plains, and Albel immediately zeroed in on one of the unoccupied benches which had been hammered into the patch of green turf.

_>>Much better. As nice as the view is under your skirt, I could really do without the jostling!>> _The Crimson Scourge gave itself a little shake like a dog after a bath, and wriggled out of the scabbard. It landed with a little "plop" on the grass and stretched the kinks out of its blade, much to the horror of a couple of senior citizens on the other benches who'd never witnessed a sword pulling off Yoga moves in all of the years of their retired existence. Both Albel and the Crimson Scourge barely noticed the consequent elderly screams of fright as the park was rapidly vacated.

Albel leaned against the backrest of the bench and reclined as best as he could against the carved stone. Now that the din of the crowd was nothing but a muffled drone in the background, he realised that it wasn't actually such a bad day to be out as long as you had nowhere to be and nothing to do… It was warm for this time of year, and the sun had been beating down constantly from the moment the _Diplo _had descended through the stratosphere and alighted in the nearby plains.

_>>It'll be a while yet before those kitchen repairs are done, so don't think you haven't got all the time in the world.>> _The Crimson Scourge said in the middle of Saluting the Sun, picking up on the sneaky side of Albel's thoughts before he could voice them. >>_If we don't find anything here, then we'll just have to keep town-hopping until we do. Don't even think of going back to that ship empty-handed!>> _

"Slave driver," Albel said with narrowed eyes, settling into a comfortable position which indicated he wasn't entertaining thoughts of going back to that maggot infested market for at least a good while. The Crimson Scourge clicked its tongue as best as it could in the absence of actually having a tongue and bounced onto the space left on the bench. _>>No one's lazier than you. Can't even be bothered buying something for your sweetheart.>> _

"Let's see if you'd be singing the same tune if it was _your _money we had to spend," Albel retorted, not bothering to open his eyes which meant he missed the sight of the Crimson Scourge indignantly wringing its blade. He couldn't resist a little smirk, knowing that it was exactly the sort of remark which would get the Crimson Scourge riled. Ever since Fayt had pushed all of the right buttons on the Crimson Scourge during breakfast two days ago, the sword had become unusually touchy wherever Fayt was concerned, just like its master really… but the smirk didn't stay on Albel's face for long, vanishing the very second the Crimson Scourge's hilt made contact with Albel's head with a very loud "BONK".

_>>Lazy AND cheap. Money should be no object!>> _The Crimson Scourge scolded as Albel cursed in language fit for a sailor's deck. >>_If you want to impress the young one, you should be prepared to do whatever it takes!>>_

"What type of reasoning is that?" Albel exclaimed angrily. "Don't you see it doesn't matter _what _I get? Or why this whole thing is so damn difficult? If it means nothing to Fayt then there's no point!"

The Crimson Scourge baulked at that. >>_A meaningful gift? I don't recall that blonde ape being so specific.>> _

"He wasn't. But I assume that's what he meant…" Albel said with a roll of his eyes, rubbing his forehead as he felt the first stirrings of a real wing-ding of a headache coming on. Then again, he'd always suspected the Crimson Scourge had been a hammer in a past life.

Now that he thought about it, Cliff hadn't really said much at all – ordinarily, Albel would've put the Klausian's unusually frantic manner down to the post kitchen-explosion frenzy which had taken hold of most of the _Diplo _crew. Something else apart from the clean up and damage control had been on Cliff's mind though…

-----------------------------------

"_A… present?" _

_Albel's initial reaction had been an incredulous raising of the eyebrows at Cliff's latest instructions as he'd peered around the makeshift door of his room. He'd managed to feel a tinge of remorse for demolishing the nice automated door that had come before it, which had been fitted with impressive cutting edge technology like a built-in shoe shiner and a Pachelbel Canon in D door chime. Unfortunately remorse had come too late, since the quickest solution Cliff had been able to come up with was to string up a ratty old shower curtain on the door frame. The cheesy pink floral pattern had led many a homicidal fan girl to charge straight in armed to the teeth with spiked mallets, under the understandable misconception that a certain Sophia Esteed was dwelling within. (Highly inconvenient as the interruptions were, Albel couldn't help but appreciate the thought.)_

"_Yeah, you heard right. Get the kid something nice, that always scores brownie points. Look, we'll be landing back on your home turf in a bit so you'll have plenty of time. Maintenance needs solid ground to do repair work, and Elicoor's the nearest planet right now so-"_

_It had all come out rather rushed, which had been the first indication that something was amiss. The second giveaway was the fact that Albel could have SWORN up and down that the Klausian was… well… _lactating_ under his uncharacteristically loose clothes, judging from the vertical river of milk dribbling down and out of the cuff of his pants and pooling in the heel of his shoe. Furthermore, the baggy jumper Cliff had worn was covered with tapered protrusions, almost as though a whole pantry's worth of bottles was crammed inside…_

_Albel had poked his head further out from behind the curtain to look Cliff up and down with a suspicious eye. He'd seen similar frazzled expressions on the faces of brand new mothers back in Airyglyph but… naaaaah, couldn't be. Maybe. Hmm… _

"_So is that all clear?" Cliff had asked quickly, cutting off Albel before he could formulate any questions which required damning answers. _

"_Actually I…"_

"_Great! You'll be fine! Top o' the world!" Cliff babbled, shoving a big thumbsup in Albel's face to shut him up. The swordsman had been forced to duck as a tiny jar flew out of Cliff's sleeve like a dome shaped missile, missing his head by inches. It connected hard with the door frame and clattered to a halt at Albel's feet with the label turned right-side up. The words _"Baby Mash: Property of the toothless Adray Lasbard"_ screamed up at the two onlookers, one of whom looked guiltily stricken while the other's expression was flatter than cardboard. _

"_Stealing from the elderly is a punishable offe…"_

"_WHOA, look at the time! Where the hell does it go to?" Cliff gasped with a huge slap to his cheek, gawking at some invisible watch on his naked wrist. Unfortunately he had forgotten his own strength. That single slap sent him flying a good couple of feet down the corridor._

_Albel had failed to be impressed by Cliff's one-man tumbling act, not even when the Klausian managed to catch all of his escaping milk bottles through stupendous contortion of his limbs and loin region. Leaving the milk spillage for the Diplo cleaning squad, Albel had ducked back behind the curtain to mope along the floor of his room for a good couple of hours before landing._

_A gift for Fayt Leingod… _

-----------------------------------

The Crimson Scourge twirled a little, scratching the stone bench with the point of its blade as it fidgeted. _>>Trust you to complicate things oh Wicked One, but I can see your point. "Meaningful" has greater weight than "frivolous", irregardless of how much more convenient the latter might be. So… any ideas?>> _

"I thought you were supposed to be full of those?" Albel said testily.

_>>My, so young yet so angry.>> _The Crimson Scourge drawled and flicked a bit of stone dust at its infuriating master. _>>But since I have no wish for this day to go to waste, I'll confer my wisdom on thy rock of a head. Based on what we both know, we'll narrow down the young one's likes to what we might reasonably assume is a true passion, and we'll work off that. You start.>> _

Albel blinked, experiencing a total blank just when he needed his entire brain cell count to work as a team for him, but then again he wasn't fond of being put on the spot like that. Before he could come up with anything that might pass as an acceptable answer, the Crimson Scourge had started radiating so much sarcasm that it was almost visible as waves.

_>>Oh this is rich. You've traveled a zillion light years with the guy, and you've got absolutely nothing to say about him? Fine then, I'll show you how it's done!>> _The Crimson Scourge made a show of clearing its throat and paused. _>>Pepperoni pizza.>> _

"What?" Albel spluttered.

_>>You heard me, you dolt. It's his favourite food. Go on, it's your turn.>> _

"Wait a minute! How the hell did you know that?" Albel demanded, his eyes bulging. If the Crimson Scourge had been deliberately rummaging through Fayt's trash then he was gonna…

_>>You dare question my photographic memory? Conversation #219, dinner on the Diplo precisely two weeks ago. Ring any bells? There's a sizeable stack of info hidden away in that pinky grey matter of yours, but it's up to you to remember it all.>> _The Crimson Scourge gleamed wickedly. _>>At this rate, I'M the one who's going to make perfect spouse material!>> _

Albel's eyes flashed with red coloured temper as the Crimson Scourge threw down the gauntlet, so to speak. Oh ho, it'd be a cold day in Mosel Dunes before he'd let the damn sword out-Fayt _him! _With the flood of resolve came rapid recall, and Albel started mentally channeling that beefy "Rocky" fellow he'd watched the other night on the _Diplo's _cable movie channel, even though the guy hadn't really possessed muscles where it mattered the most…

"Favourite sport – basketball. Point guard player, team captain, 38 hoops over two seasons!" Albel released his first volley like gunfire.

_>>Trust you to be thinking about big bouncing balls. Sourced from where?>> _The Crimson Scourge asked saucily.

"Stolen from Maria's logs."

_>>Do I really want to know why you were snooping in a girl's room? Favourite song – "Barbie Girl". Drunken Karaoke session last month, beat that!>> _

"Bah, just because he sang one song you think he _liked _it? Favourite Elicoorian drink – Sarsaparilla Soda, Kirlsa tavern stopover three weeks ago!"

_>>Oh what utter hogwash. No one likes that excuse for a drink. That crap tastes like soap suds from the floor of a Lum stable!>> _

"You don't even have the tastebuds to make a judgment, fool!"

_>>I have more taste then YOU'LL ever have, mister purple man.>> _

"YOU MOCK ME, MAGGOT?"

-----------------------------------

Fayt Leingod trotted along the bustling Peterny streets as easily as a local, looking about him with lively interest at the animated town. He hadn't been too sorry to hear that the _Diplo _would have to experience some down time for repairs. It had been awhile since any of the crew had been able to wander across solid ground, and the bracing fresh air and sunshine of the Palmira Plains were blessed respite from the comfortable but artificial environment of the celestial ship. Now that peace had been declared across the continent, Fayt found himself able to fully appreciate the colourful charm of Peterny which he'd overlooked before…

Then again, maybe he'd been quick to jump the gun at the thought of "peace". Fayt's stride faltered as he detected the pounding of multiple pairs of feet traveling up a nearby side street accompanied by elderly voices raised in terror.

_Don't tell me monsters have gotten over the city walls! _Fayt leapt into warrior mode, freeing his hands from his pockets and unsheathing his sword from the scabbard at the small of his back. The crowd rapidly parted to make room as Fayt pounded across the pavement towards the source of the noise. More than one onlooker couldn't help but admire the lithe form of the young fighter and the precise way his slender fingers gripped the handle of his sword at all the correct angles, or the way his strange bright blue bangs fluttered across the intense green of his eyes.

A small group of old men and women charged into the main street as fast as their hobbling legs could take them, almost colliding with Fayt who pulled back in the nick of time. They looked well and truly spooked, as though they'd just been forced to watch the entire "Friday the 13th" series without any toilet breaks and no screaming, under penalty of death. They also looked rather tuckered out after having to shuffle their way to this point of the story after a totally unacceptable 42 paragraphs.

"What's going on back there?" Fayt asked, inwardly groaning at how cliché that line sounded, even to his ears. Such is the lot which lead characters in RPGs are cast into, alas.

Most of the group was gibbering incoherently, but one or two still had their wits about them. A wizened old lady gripped Fayt's arm and shook it urgently. "I-i-it was a man! A d-demonic beast of a m-m-man!"

"No Mildred, it was female! A Succubus, it must have been! Nothing else could have such sinfully sexy legs! Er, not that I was looking," a portly elderly man babbled.

"Who cares? We all agree it was a demon!" Another yelled, shaking his cane in the air. "It had tentacles and everything and a flan for a hat!"

Meanwhile, Fayt was slowly digesting all the weird and wacky descriptions the crazy old coots had to offer (taking into small account that most of them weren't wearing their glasses), and was out of his mind with relief that the person who he _assumed_ they were talking about was safely out of earshot. The last thing the _Diplo _needed while on shore leave was liability for the widespread massacre of Peterny's elderly population via a katana wielded by a homicidal crackpot with a vendetta…

Fayt lowered his sword and awkwardly scratched his head as old man and woman alike simultaneously turned his way, looking up at him expectantly as though he was the pest exterminator they'd prayed for.

"I… _think_ it's someone I know," Fayt said slowly.

The little gathering reacted like they'd been zapped with stun guns and drew back quickly, their frightened eyes converging on the sword in Fayt's grip.

"Y-your sword doesn't do y-y-yoga too d-does it?" One of the old ladies tittered fearfully.

"No, we do comedy skits together every fortnight," Fayt replied cheerfully with a totally straight face.

Before Fayt could say "Poking fun at the elderly will most likely earn you a reserved spot in hell", a dust cloud appeared where there had been people mere milliseconds ago, with only a lonely pair of yellow dentures left lying in their wake. With the witnesses dispersed and all obstacles gone, Fayt smiled mischievously, sheathed his sword and set off down the little street to investigate the latest Albel-disturbance to have arisen in only a matter of days.

Even before he'd made it halfway the sound of general ruckus was already drifting through the air, punctuated with all the usual chaotic noises and yelling which Albel was known for generating when he was in an exceptionally destructive mood. Fayt winced at a particularly loud noise, which could be likened to something very large and heavy being ripped by its roots with one's bare hands. Okay, dangerous as it probably was, this he _had_ to see.

"Umm…"

If it was any consolation, it looked like it _had_ been a rather pretty beauty spot. (Duh, otherwise it wouldn't have been called a beauty spot.) Now it looked like someone had taken an industrial sized hoe and sowed sword shaped holes all over the mussed up turf. And gone over it again with a really big spiky meat mallet. Then held an international ballroom competition on it just to get a couple more tiny pits 10 feet deep, the type which only hardcore stilettos are capable of producing. In contrast to the pitted lawn was a whopping big crater in the middle, the sides of which looked raw and recently made. Fayt guessed that a nice stone bench had once occupied that patch of soil. Actually he didn't have to guess, since said nice stone bench was currently being brandished by one Albel Nox like a freakish baseball bat as he ran circles around the grass in hot pursuit of one Crimson Scourge, who was frantically hopping one step ahead _en pointe_ while evading Albel's swipes like a champion dodgeball player. Well… that accounted for the holes, at least.

Fayt didn't say anything at first, generously allowing a couple of seconds to pass by since he was certain that any minute, someone _somewhere_ was going to start playing Benny Hill music. When nothing of the sort happened Fayt exhaled slowly, counted to ten and then up to twenty for good measure, and finally took a bracing breath.

"_Albel!"_

The effect was electric. The closest word to describe Albel's vocal reaction was "screech", while his immediate _physical_ reaction was to throw his arms up over his head. That wouldn't have been very noteworthy but for the fact he was holding onto a 20 kg chair made of rock at the time – the bench was quick to get airborne and flew straight over a partition of the city wall, falling one storey and bouncing off the armoured head of a Horned Turtle in the wrong place at the wrong time. Amid all the commotion, the Crimson Scourge remembered it was out to survive and seized the opportunity to scuttle behind the shelter of Fayt's legs with a little hop and skip.

Albel slowly turned around even as he felt his stomach sink somewhere below his knees, though some part of his brain managed to find time to wonder whether it was actually a _component _of Cliff's plan to make Albel look like a total jackass every time Fayt happened to be moseying by. Or maybe Fayt was just drawn to idiocy. Who knows. Anyway at least he didn't look angry, despite Albel's blatant breach of countless environmental law acts and instigation of pending law suits from the Prevention of Rudeness, Under-appreciation and Discrimination of the Elderly (or PRUDE for short).

Fayt looked down at the Crimson Scourge who was vigorously trying to dislodge the point of its blade from a large clod of dirt, raised his eyes to take in the sight of a sullen Albel shifting from foot to foot in the middle of a lawn resembling the moon's surface, and finally let out the breath he'd been holding in the form of an exaggerated sigh.

"Never a quiet moment when we're on the town…" Fayt said with a wry grin as he relaxed his tense muscles and adopted a casual stance. Albel shot him a look of pure surprise. Fayt's application of quiet understanding to even the most moronic of Albel's escapades as of late was… slightly confusing, to say the least.

"Well? Aren't you going to chew me out?" Albel demanded, exuding grumpiness from every pore. Secretly, half of him was hoping that Fayt would snap up the invitation and lecture him to high heaven. The thought of a feisty Fayt occupied one of the top three placements on Albel's mental list of covetous turn-ons, along with kinky things involving maid outfits, paintbrushes and lots and LOTS of Nutella.

"No. Why should I?" Fayt asked with a shrug. "It's been a long time since any of us set foot on land, and I know you're not as used to flying for long periods like me and Quark. Of course you'd be feeling restless, although…" Fayt paused to survey the destruction and waved one hand in a defeated motion, "… I think you could've found a better outlet."

There wasn't much Albel could say against _that_. Even worse, the Crimson Scourge chose that moment to reopen its metaphorical big mouth as it peered up at Albel through the gap between Fayt's ankles. _>>Tell him you tried to kill me, mister purple man!>> _

"ACK!" Fayt yelped in alarm as Albel dove through the air and made a lunge at the Crimson Scourge as it danced a little jig behind Fayt's legs. The sword neatly sidestepped and darted behind Albel, administering a hard slap to the back of his knees which tipped the already off-balance swordsman straight into Fayt's arms.

"Not again…!" Albel started to yell before realising that he didn't _really _mind as Fayt's face rapidly rushed up to meet his. Up close, the green of Fayt's eyes was even richer than when viewed from afar, full of shifting shapes, shades and lighter coloured flecks all rimmed with soft dark lashes… but Albel's reflection in those glossy irises shattered when the faces of the two men crashed together in a highly unromantic way, resulting in two _very _squashed, sore noses.

_>>Aww… missed by an inch!>> _The Crimson Scourge clucked, shaking its hilt in disappointment while it surveyed its handiwork.

Fayt's cheeks blushed a deep red when it dawned on him that the only things currently stopping Albel from falling flat on his face were the swordsman's hands, which he'd instinctively wrapped around Fayt's narrow hips as he tripped. Albel's palms were wide enough to encompass the whole circumference of Fayt's middle, and all ten fingers and claws were clutching him with a solid tension which pulled Fayt close enough for his fringe to be tickled and lifted by Albel's breath. The steady puffs of hot air against the skin of his brow were warmer than the sunlight beating down upon them… and the accidental embrace held even as more seconds passed, until Fayt was aware that _his _breath was also stirring individual strands within the long golden bangs brushing the sides of Albel's face.

Albel was perfectly comfortable thank you very much, and nearly growled in protest when Fayt finally uttered a polite cough and gently started to disentangle himself. Albel had scant choice but to permit Fayt to slide out of his grasp. He managed to find solace though in relishing a last minute feel of the ridges of Fayt's abdomen beneath the silky cut of his sleeveless vest. Albel closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the sensation and committing it to memory. _Gods! Why does he always have to smell and feel so damn good?_

Fayt shyly cleared his throat, ducking his face so that his flaming cheeks wouldn't be so obvious. The young man appeared to be giving himself a mental shake-up. "Looks like you still need to vent some energy, huh?" Fayt said at last, tilting his head to one side thoughtfully. "How 'bout if you vent on me instead of the Crimson Scourge?"

Oh the perverted insinuations that could be built upon that sentence if this were an M fic, Albel thought gloomily. After pulling his mind from that particular dirty gutter, Albel got a grip and concentrated on replying. "Are you saying you want me to fight you?"

"_Spar,_ Albel. "Fight" implies that we're enemies, when we're not," Fayt said, reaching back to slide his sword out of its scabbard with a soft metal hiss. Albel raised an eyebrow. Since when had Fayt let himself be bothered by such technicalities?

While waiting for Albel to accept or decline, Fayt limbered up his sword arm with little pendulum swings and twists, rolling the handle of the sword in between loose fingers. The good quality steel flashed white in the sun, the light traveling along the grain of the blade in an unbroken line of metallic fire…

A little niggling thought was eating its way through the back of Albel's brain as he continued to stare at Fayt's sword. In the madcap craziness of the past ten minutes, Albel had almost forgotten the reason _why_ he'd forgone a lazy day of sleeping in to brave the flea-infested market crowd. Now his original objective had suddenly decided to rise to prominence in his head once more, brought about by ogling a weapon of all things.

_Wait. That's **IT!**_

Albel impatiently swatted away the light bulb which had flown in to try and illuminate itself over his head. He stared hard at the Crimson Scourge and gestured discreetly at Fayt with one finger. "I'll have to _talk with the Crimson Scourge_ first. It'd be a _good idea _to check if the _sword_ wants to_ gift_ me with its skill."

Fayt looked at Albel, Albel looked at the Crimson Scourge, and the Crimson Scourge looked at Albel like he was an A-grade moron.

"Well… okay. After all, you did try to squash it with a bench," Fayt conceded with a shrug and a smile.

"Just give me a moment alone with it," Albel said.

Fayt looked a bit confused. Maybe he thought Albel meant the bench. Either way, Fayt respectfully walked a little way down the street to give the Crimson Scourge all the privacy it needed to bawl out Albel.

Albel and the Crimson Scourge watched Fayt's receding back in silence, but the very second he disappeared around the street corner, they immediately whirled to face the other.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

_>>I think I am, B1!>> _

"Good. Any objections?"

_>>Nope. Sword-play is a true passion of the young one, weapons are good investments, and you won't look like an idiot by giving him one… well, in theory anyway. I bet you'll STILL manage to screw this one up somehow.>> _

"Great to know I can _always _rely on your brand of optimism," Albel said witheringly, every word dripping with sarcasm. "Fine, that's settled. But I'm not just going to give Fayt a sword if he doesn't need one, or if the one he's got is better than what I give him. You'll have to break the one he already has."

_>>Why ME?>> _The Crimson Scourge squawked, sounding appalled at the thought of vandalising Fayt's property.

"Because "cleaving the sky" came in your job description, not mine. We're getting him a new one anyway, so why should you care?" Albel sniffed, picking up the Crimson Scourge and executing an experimental swipe at an invisible enemy, immediately feeling the blade turn into a lethal extension of his limb. His arm felt a little stiff after his high levels of inactivity on the _Diplo_, but it was nothing that a decent duel couldn't fix and Fayt was certain not to disappoint. Albel smiled fully for the first time in weeks, his insides tingling with the anticipation of witnessing Fayt in action again, holding nothing back and giving as good as he got, if not better. Never had Albel known anyone as worthy a challenge on and off the battlefield as Fayt Leingod…

"Don't do it too early though. I intend to enjoy this for at _least_ a little while," Albel smirked, his eyes focusing intently on the empty stretch of street which had swallowed up Fayt's figure.

_>>I could just sneak up on him now and dispatch his sword. You're just frittering away good shopping time, you shirker!>> _The Crimson Scourge managed to squeeze in one last complaint before Albel broke into a full-on charge down the street, his armoured feet pounding noisily against the cobblestones and sword arm bent at a readied angle in the wake of his fluttering hair tails.

Before Albel could round the corner, he sensed a stealthy movement behind him and pivoted in mid-charge with the Crimson Scourge raised, just in time to meet Fayt's blade as he swooped from the top of a lamp post. The momentum of Fayt's descent had been fed into the downward slash of his blade, sending up a spectacular clash of sparks as it scraped against the edge of the Crimson Scourge. The two blades bit into each other, both trembling with the force of the stalemate before Albel pulled the Crimson Scourge free with a wide swipe that sent Fayt hopping back out of range.

"Good to see you're still no slouch, Leingod," Albel grinned in approval of Fayt's tactics, his red eyes lighting up with unrestrained battle lust. Fayt grinned back, his own eyes swimming with green intensity and his entire body hair-triggered to attack, looking every bit the Embodiment of Destruction that he rightly was.

"I trust the Crimson Scourge isn't afraid to try and kill me?" Fayt enquired with his head cocked to one side. "I wouldn't want it holding you back."

Albel's grin grew even wider at the teenager's bravado, pouring his weight into a frontal jab with the full intention of impaling Fayt's face on the point of the Crimson Scourge. Fayt took evasive action and ducked, but felt all too well the back draft of the blade as it carved through the air where his face had just been, and the grazing of the hair on the top of his head as Albel retracted the blow.

"Just checking," Fayt laughed in response, lashing out with one foot at Albel's unguarded ankles. Albel grunted in surprise as his legs got kicked out from straight under him and violently twisted his body in mid-fall, letting Fayt's follow-up swipe glance off the steel of his gauntlet. The squeal of metal against metal echoed around the empty side street, mixing with the soft but swift pattering of Fayt's light footfalls as he relentlessly pressed his advantage. Giving up on the hope of landing on his feet, Albel allowed himself to crash to the ground and immediately entered a log roll, just as the furious clang of a sword against stone rang close to his head. Albel felt a tiny tug from one of his hair tails as he desperately rolled out of range, but the momentum he'd generated was powerful enough to pull the captive tie free from under Fayt's blade.

Albel flipped back onto his feet a split second after, the shredded wraps of one hair tie blowing away along the breeze. Long blonde strands fluttered free, whipping across Albel's face as he jerked away from another deadly slash and parried another, all the while being driven further and further back to the end of the street where it joined with the city centre…

-----------------------------------

"Yo, waiter-type guy! Gimmee another!"

The waiter bustling around the Peterny Plaza café visibly shuddered in long-suffering as that dreadful bellowing voice rang out over the square AGAIN. Muttering a quick prayer to Apris for a blessing of divine patience, the waiter dutifully slouched towards the table occupied by the huge bulk of muscle known as Cliff Fittir.

"Sir… don't you think you've had enough?" The waiter tried wheedling, both hands clasped against his chest.

"Enough is only when the kid says it's enough. Got that?" Cliff asserted, pointing to the bundle wrapped up in his bulky arms which was currently draining a ten gallon baby bottle at a rate of one litre per five seconds, and which was the catalyst for the waiter's upcoming nervous breakdown. Strewn around Cliff's table was a pile of empty milk bottles and baby mash jars just below knee deep, plus three upside-down cows lying in comas.

"Please sir, can't you start weaning your baby onto solids? Management is set to lose their entire herd. And we're being forced to sell only black coffee which is bad because now everyone can see it's just dirt scrapings. _Please_ sir!" The waiter tried again, practically kowtowing now out of desperation.

Cliff sighed out of pity and peeked between the cloth folds of the bundle. "Your call kid. What do you wanna do?"

The waiter blinked his watery eyes in disbelief. Only the top of the "baby's" head was visible, but… but… babies weren't supposed to be composed of _green icing_. (Or were they? The waiter clutched his face in pure misery, knowing that he'd definitely contracted some form of mental disease from stress if he just wasn't sure anymore.)

_>>Rphighdhsa - :p – fhahlpoh!>> _The cake gurgled happily, spitting the now empty bottle out of its mouth to join the other hundred or so littered on the floor.

Cliff nodded with finality, and there was just something about the way he did it which drove the waiter's peptic ulcer to all new levels of throbbing. Sure enough, Cliff grandly pointed to one of the KO'ed cows. "It wants to try some of that stuff. D'you think you could hack off a leg bone?"

The waiter squeaked and promptly fainted dead away, something which would've caused a lot more commotion if not for the sudden uproar that erupted across the centre square at the same time. Cliff looked up from where he was trying to revive the waiter with smelly leftover baby mash, picking up on the sound of singing steel over the screams of the townspeople and the scraping of chairs as the café's customers ran for cover.

Cliff's height meant that he had no trouble looking over the heads of the gathering crowd, and he groaned when the two combatants moved into his plane of vision. So _that's _what those old coots had been talking about in the café earlier when he'd overheard babble about "two Succubi with yoga swords" wearing "a flan and blueberry" as hats…

_>>Adpadoqfp - :O - Wjfmnccaz?>> _The cake had been busy painting a milk moustache on the comatose waiter, but now that something seemed to have caught the attention of its surrogate mummy it wanted in on the action. Ever obliging, Cliff picked the cake up by the scruff of its neck (or at least where he thought its neck might be) and hoisted it up to the viewing platform of his shoulder.

"See that guy on the left? That's Albel. He's crazy. That's C-R-A-Z-Y," Cliff said helpfully, giving the cake time to absorb that word which would be considered useful in the vocabulary of humans and desserts alike. "And the other bloke's Fayt. He's relatively normal. Except for when he does stuff like brawling in a marketplace. Then you can call him a W-E-I-R-D-O."

_>>Esaafhgk. - :( – Qlajhfwp?>> _

"Why are they fighting? Beats me. Maybe Albel's idea of a good present was a blender," Cliff sniggered, suddenly remembering the relevance of the luv program to Albel's presence in Peterny...

-----------------------------------

Meanwhile, Albel and Fayt were totally unperturbed that their duel had spilt over into the busiest section of the town and were oblivious to the onlookers, some of whom were already taking bets on the outcome. Albel was on the offensive now, unleashing a merciless sequence of feints and jabs which was sending Fayt into a merry dance around the centre square. The teenager was now covered with a light film of perspiration, and Albel couldn't help but admire the sheen which seemed to set Fayt's entire body on fire every time he moved through a patch of sunlight. If Fayt was tiring then he definitely wasn't showing it – the boy's agility was paramount, gifting him with the ability to dodge all of Albel's advances with liquid-like ease, but in terms of speed they were an even match. All that was needed was the smallest of slips by one to push the advantage of fleetness in favour of their opponent…

_Look out! _Fayt spotted the downward cut a fraction before it started on a trajectory for the vulnerable flesh of his sword arm and hurled himself out of reach. His reaction time had been too sluggish though and while the Crimson Scourge failed to draw blood, it connected solidly with the hilt of Fayt's sword and sent the weapon flying from his sweaty grasp.

The sword cluttered a few feet away somewhere in the midst of the gathered crowd, out of reach of easy retrieval but still visible where it had landed on the cobblestones.

_>>Now, oh Wicked One? Those shops won't stay open forever!>> _The Crimson Scourge spoke for the first time since the duel started, longing for Albel to get back on track instead of expending an overload of testosterone on playing with swords.

Albel bared his teeth in a feral smile, his face glowing from the thrill of battle while his chest heaved from the vigorous workout. "Not yet. He's down but not out, just you watch."

_>>HOLY CATFISH Batman!>> _The Crimson Scourge exclaimed as a flaming hot missile sailed past the edge of its blade, proving Albel right. Even before the first ball of fire had doused itself out on the hard stone street, Fayt had already sent a second Firebolt whizzing crazily through the air, infused with a fiery homing spirit which was drawn to warmth like bees to honey. Albel darted back and forth as the crackling flame zeroed in on his body heat, swiping at it with the Crimson Scourge as though the sword was an overgrown fly swat. Just as he managed to land a solid hit and extinguished the spell in a puff of black smoke, Albel caught sight of Fayt using the brief distraction to make a mad dash for his sword.

"Oh no you don't, Leingod," Albel called out mockingly, also breaking into an angular run to intercept Fayt's path. Albel was a fraction of a second faster, kicking the sword further out of reach just as Fayt was about to fall upon it. "It's no fun if the odds aren't _all _stacked against you!"

"Fantastic. The feeling's mutual then!" Fayt retorted through gritted teeth, choosing to make a temporary strategic retreat. With catlike grace, Fayt back-flipped out of reach of the Crimson Scourge to land on the edge of a market stall table. His boots dug hard into the splintered wood as he steadied himself and stood tall, his upper arms dappled with blue and white light thrown by the mystical symbols now spiraling rapidly around his wrists.

For a moment or two Albel couldn't bring himself to take the initiative and strike the table out from under the young man – the sight of Fayt Leingod, disarmed yet bristling with defiance, standing proud upon his platform a head above Albel's shoulders without even a hint of terror for his adversary, provided a rare moment of wonder for the Airyglyphian captain who was usually loathe to be greatly impressed by anything. _He refuses to be cowed, even when the odds look bad and he's all alone. How long has it been since anyone's dared to resist me this way…? _Albel made no conscious effort to smother a bolt of arousal which went flashing down his spine as he drank in the sight of the long, lean pillar of Fayt's body, stark in contrast against the multi-coloured Peterny pennants fluttering behind him in the breeze. The stubborn tilt of Fayt's chin was softened by a cerulean strand of intricate symbols swirling around his slender neck, and the blue lines of light traveling up the sides of his face dyed Fayt's eyes an eerie burnished gold…

Without warning Fayt launched himself through the air, fire and ice rippling down his naked arms as the symbols wreathed around his limbs flared with completion. Albel buried his face in the crook of his sword arm, bearing the brunt of the blue and red wave which surged over the Crimson Scourge's aura, shielding him from the worst of the impact. Momentarily blinded, he knew that Fayt had acted during the moment's delay. Right on cue came the ominous sound of a sword whistling through the air, and a gleaming blade cut a swathe through the ice crystals and steam, shattering the elemental cloud to make way for its newly equipped wielder. Albel fended off Fayt's renewed attack with no small amount of effort, sensing in each of the bone rattling hits an echo of Fayt's determination to snatch back the offensive advantage which had been his at the onset of the duel.

In snatches of thought between blows, Albel could hardly believe that this little hellcat was the same Fayt who'd happily cooked him breakfast two days before, or the same Fayt who only minutes ago had blushed so sweetly in reaction to Albel's accidental touch. There was absolutely _nothing_ demure about Fayt's demeanour now – even the scent of apples which constantly clung to his skin and hair was overpowered by the musky aroma of sweat, while his face was as animated as a fox. In the midst of the strangely intimate sword dance, dicing death with every stroke, shift of the feet and split second decision, Fayt never looked so incredibly… _alive._ It was a sensation which Albel was all too well-versed in, and for someone from beyond the stars to have literally landed at Albel's doorstep, fully capable of feeling and understanding what lay at the heart of the fighter's spirit AND being good-looking and patient and kind to boot was… well… a prime catch which Albel was _definitely_ not going to permit to get away!

Decision thus made, Albel pivoted magnificently on the balls of his feet and slashed out _once_…

The severed halves of the sword flew up through the air and fell back to earth at an unhurried pace, the metal turning over slowly so that the cleanly sliced edges of the break caught the glancing rays of sunlight. The audience bunched along the perimeter of the central square watched the descent of the broken sword in silence, finally uttering a disappointed _"Ahhhh…"_ when the two pieces bounced once upon the stones before lying still.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Albel lowered the Crimson Scourge and turned to look at Fayt. The action had stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and in yet another demonstration of what a shape-shifter he could be, Fayt's killer instinct was nowhere to be seen – in its place was now a quiet sort of placidity. Fayt wordlessly bent to pick up his broken sword, still saying nothing as he stared at the exposed grain dusting the blade pieces at the break.

Just as Albel was feeling the first stirrings of shame, and mere seconds before the Crimson Scourge was about to beat him into Albel-coloured moss for daring to upset Fayt so thoroughly, the silence was unexpectedly broken by an appreciative burst of laughter from the latter.

"You've gotten really strong, Albel!" Fayt complimented, not crestfallen after all, and his eyes were still bright and alert from the duel as he turned them upon Albel. "That's the first time you've managed to break one of my weapons. These swords are pretty thick in the blade."

"Hmph," Albel snorted dismissively, though a little part of him glowed at Fayt's praise.

_>>Stealing my thunder now, are we oh Wicked One…?>> _The Crimson Scourge said cattily.

"Oh well. Nothing that a bit of time in the workshop won't fix," Fayt mused while Albel purposefully shoved the Crimson Scourge back in its scabbard, muffling out the rest of its bitching. Then he registered what Fayt had just said, and leapt forward quickly to confiscate the sword pieces with a swipe of his claws.

"N-no you fool! You actually think you can fix this?" Albel blurted out, not sounding as guilty as he felt since he knew he was only _half_ lying. Fayt not only cooked a mean pancake but could also wield a mean blowtorch, and given half the chance, Albel knew that Fayt would just keep applying himself day and night until his sword was mended. Admirable in most other circumstances, but definitely _not_ what Albel needed right now.

"No matter how pure a seam you weld, the scar that's left in the blade will always work towards destabilising the sword. It'll never hold up in a serious fight, let alone against the Creator," Albel continued reasonably, hefting the halves of the blade in one hand. "I take full responsibility. I'll get you a new sword."

Fayt's eyes widened at the unexpected offer and immediately started to protest. "Oh no Albel, you really don't have to…"

"_OH YES I DO!_ I mean-" Albel cursed his unchecked outburst. "I mean, I want to. **NO! **I mean… I just feel like it. And… and… good _GODS,_ you're going to get something for free so why are you even complaining, you fool!"

Fayt hid a smile at Albel's uncharacteristic verbal fumbling by bowing his head in defeat. "Alright! Fine! If you insist!" he sighed playfully, tucking a few sweaty strands of hair behind an ear as he straightened. The humour in his smile lifted a little to make way for a more sincere expression. "And... thank you Albel. I really appreciate it."

It was Albel's turn to widen his eyes as Fayt leaned forward and delicately placed one hand on his shoulder, giving it a brief gentle squeeze before slowly withdrawing his touch. It was such a natural thing for Fayt to do, yet Albel found a fresh wave of powerful longing breaking over him in its wake. _I can beat him in a duel, break his sword, call him names, and he'll still go out of his way to show me kindness. Who else would do that for a maggot like me? And who can really blame me for falling for him…?_

"I think I'll head back to the inn and wash up," Fayt suddenly said. "Are you sure you don't want to do the same? I don't need a sword straight away."

_>>The young one is the evil voice of temptation. Resist or I will be forced to hurt you.>> _The Crimson Scourge's mind voice sailed through Albel's head like rain on his parade, laden with _plenty _of promised threat if he didn't comply. Albel almost uttered a sob of frustration as all sorts of delicious bathhouse plot bunnies hopped away in favour of the author's decision to stick with the shopping theme. Truly… life was a total _bitch._

"No. I'm going to go. Look. For. A. Sword. Now." Albel bit out each word through clenched teeth, sounding and looking more thoroughly pained than any sufferer of constipation.

"Okay," Fayt said cheerily with no further arguments. "I'll leave enough hot water in the tub for you then. See you back at the inn!"

Fayt waved and gamboled off merrily, prompting Albel to seize a moment for himself to bash his head against the nearest brick wall. The hilt of the Crimson Scourge gleamed with malicious amusement as it uttered the three little words which formed the motto of millions of teenage girls throughout the known galaxy…

_>>Let's go SHOPPING!>> _

The Crimson Scourge paused to rethink. _>>Again, that is.>> _

-----------------------------------

I'll just point out now that I'm the saddest excuse for a girl there is, since I have virtually no interest in spending money and my friends and I just go to toy stores to set off all the talking Woody dolls and Barbie Pegasus bears. XD What IS a good gift for a guy anyway? Oo

Next chapter: The shopping component of the program concludes, but with results that neither Albel nor Fayt were expecting. Bunnies, problem gambling and cursed Choghurt – expect all that was promised before!


	8. Step 2: Give gifts to your lover pt 2

Oh MAN I feel so dead after writing this! D: I'm so sorry that it took so long – there was so much I wanted to say and so many scenarios I wanted to include that the whole chapter kept growing bigger and bigger… Xx This chapter sits at 10,700 words but was threatening to creep towards 15,000 which was total overkill, hence I've decided to conclude the following events in the next chapter. This fic had better get easier to write after this…!

Anyway, I thus give you Albel and the Crimson Scourge on their second shopping expedition, and here's a little task for you all – how many Simpsons and Futurama references can you spot? XD (Actually there's only one Futurama reference. :P)

-----------------------------------------

"**STEP #2: Give gifts to your lover" (part 2): **

"And _STAY OUT!" _

Albel Nox had never been particularly fond of flying, whether via dragon, celestial ship or some miscellaneous self-propelled method. Today he decided, as he soared through the air with all the grace of a petrified bird, he'd sampled considerably _more_ than the recommended daily intake of category three.

At least the ground was mercifully spongy against Albel's cranium, but the price he had to pay for a cushioned landing was an unexpected rubbery consistency to the marshy earth. There was a strange irony in finding himself literally bouncing head over heels in a mission for the love of his life. Unfortunately Fayt Leingod wasn't around to applaud Albel's impression of a human pogo stick… and anyway, Albel's star performance didn't seem to be winning over the only member of the audience in the form of the massive arms master standing at the village entrance. The guy was so big that he looked as though he'd not only eaten all his greens as a kid, but also his fair share of cement trucks and ocean liners.

"…you too!" The man yelled, rearing back and hurling a squirming katana in his grasp into the forest after the bouncing captain of the Black Brigade. Unlike Albel, the Crimson Scourge was more kindly disposed towards the feeling of flying, but its happy squealing was prematurely cut short by a huge oak tree which had chosen to sink its roots directly in the sword's flight path. The consequent "THUNK" gave the entire tree a terrible case of the shakes, upsetting a bird's nest on a lower branch which plopped neatly onto the Crimson Scourge's half-imbedded hilt.

The arms master surveyed his handiwork with a loud grunt, dusted off his enormous hands and wordlessly marched back into the village, slamming the village gate with a force that made the whole structure rattle on its hinges. After half a minute or so, the surrounding woodland started to recover from the brief disturbance, and the birds squawking with alarm in the treetops finally shut their beaks long enough for the words "peace" and "quiet" to be used in the following sentence.

"That went well," Albel said sarcastically, upsetting the newly acquired peace and quiet from where he had bounced his way into the crook of a tree bough. It didn't take him long to haul his ass back to the ground since a passing drone of bees, alerted by the sexy sound of Albel's voice, decided to attempt pollinating his colourful mass of two toned hair.

_ >>Gee, which part gave THAT away?>> _The Crimson Scourge replied just as sarcastically, wriggling vigorously as it tried worming its way out of the tree bark holding it captive. Totally absorbed in its task, the Crimson Scourge didn't notice Albel flailing past as he fended off the amorous attentions of the fangirl bees by cracking his hair tails like whips. _ >>I think we lost it somewhere between you testing those swords on the arms master's taxidermied pet cat, and me being far from amused at being mistaken for a toothpick by his hundred year old blind mother…>> _

Albel spritzed the last of the bees with a lethal dose of Sophia-In-A-Can before glowering his displeasure at the Crimson Scourge. "Decapitating a dead cat is one thing… but knocking out an old lady's _front teeth_ is another!"

_ >>I slipped! She was old! They should've broken off years ago on some corn cob!>> _The Crimson Scourge argued with an exasperated air, finally extricating itself from the tree with a loud "pop". It shook off the sawdust and the bird's nest too before the woodpecker sitting in it got too comfortable, and leaned back against the base of the tree to take a breather. _ >>Anyway, that makes eight villages now which we're banned from on penalty of water torture, plus one hundred or so government offices and Elicoor Disneyworld. Oh, and Club Med. Better be careful, or you'll have to spend your honeymoon in some motel utility room acting out a janitor-and-janitor's-wife fantasy.>> _

Albel sighed crossly, throwing himself down on the forest floor next to the Crimson Scourge. He looked as happy as a sack of old mouldy potatoes, which wasn't very happy at all. "We've looked everywhere. All the towns, all the backwater maggot villages, and I actually gave in to your _stupid_ suggestion to loiter around the Storm Brigade barracks so you could "inspect" the soldiers' swords…" Albel chose to narrow a knowing glare at the Crimson Scourge at that point, harbouring strong suspicions that the Crimson Scourge had actually been inspecting a more _metaphorical _type of sword as it had peeked through the barrack windows.

"… but everything we've looked at was either too plain, too brittle or made in some nonsense place called " Taiwan"! How the hell are we supposed to find Fayt a sword at this rate?" Albel raged.

_ >>Sulking like that isn't going to get you very far, for starters!>> _The Crimson Scourge clucked. _ >>Not to mention this day's work has proved that you have social skills equivalent to a lump of rock. Do you think it'll be possible, just for once in your life, to NOT receive a court summons every single time you come into contact with a crowd?>> _

Albel sniffed dismissively. "The maggots don't share my "Try before you buy" mentality. So what? None of it will matter as soon as Fayt gets a sword."

_ >>But it's hardly productive to traumatise each and every outpost of civilisation in the process, nor to be thrown out of town on our faces three consecutive times!>> _The Crimson Scourge snorted, scuffing up a bunch of leaves to fly in Albel's face. Then the sword paused in thought. _ >>Is this all worth it, oh Wicked One?>> _

Albel looked at the Crimson Scourge apprehensively. "Don't tell me _you're _getting second thoughts now!"

The Crimson Scourge shook its hilt in disagreement. _ >>Not at all, oh Wicked One. It's just that…>> _The sword suddenly gleamed with a mischievous flash of yellow light, and proceeded to recline casually across Albel's purple lap as it settled in for a good old goss. _ >>… it's just that you've never bothered to tell me precisely _why_ the young one is worth all this trouble and more. So tell me now!>> _

"What? _N-no_!" Albel spluttered angrily, swatting the Crimson Scourge aside with the back of his hand as he struggled to his feet. The sword projected a pout down their telepathic connection, badgering Albel's heels as he stomped down the well worn forest path leading back to Peterny.

_ >>Aw, you're no fun.>> _The Crimson Scourge voiced the understatement of the century. _ >>I just wanted to know what you find so special about him, that's all.>> _

"Something else you should _also _know is what happens to swords when they're too nosy for their own good!" Albel growled threateningly over his shoulder. This was the last type of conversation he felt like engaging in at the moment, what with the pending failure of the shopping expedition looming over his head, mixed in with delightful fantasies of Fayt cavorting in various states of undress in the bathhouse back at the inn. The thought of all that humidity and steam and rivulets of moisture sliding down naked limbs and through bodily crevices was getting just a _little_ bit too…

_ >>… distracting?>> _The Crimson Scourge helpfully finished.

Albel stopped dead in the middle of the path, his hair ties swishing dangerously like the tail of an agitated cat.

_ >>Sorry! Couldn't help overhearing.>> _The Crimson Scourge said as it skipped past Albel's silently fuming figure, though it didn't sound too apologetic. _ >>But do assure me oh Wicked One that this infatuation isn't just descending to… how should I say… a purely physical level?>> _

"How shallow do you think I am?" Albel exploded in disbelief, his voice disturbing the same flock of birds which had made such a racket earlier. "Of _course _I find Fayt pleasing to look at but-"

_ >>"But"…?>> _The Crimson Scourge ventured with a knowing mental smile.

Albel snapped his mouth shut, suddenly realising just how neatly he'd been trapped.

"… but we have a lot in common too," Albel finished grudgingly, hoping with all his might that it was enough to get the Crimson Scourge off his back. He brushed by the sword without another word, intent on getting back to Peterny as soon as possible without anymore verbal trip-ups but unfortunately, the Crimson Scourge still wasn't satisfied.

_ >>That doesn't account for much, you know.>> _The Crimson Scourge prodded, hopping companionably by Albel's side. _ >>You've got lots in common with plenty of other people, but I haven't seen you blow up kitchens just for them. Take that red haired Aquarian wench for example. Word is on the fangirl grapevine that you two have the severe hots for each other and wanna make two and a half kids!>> _

The Crimson Scourge waited patiently for Albel to finish throwing up the Frosty Flakes he'd had for breakfast that morning, and even endured his consequent marrow chilling glare with good grace.

"Point taken," Albel conceded irritably, dabbing at his mouth with the hem of his skirt which earned him a reprimanding slap from the Crimson Scourge. Then he frowned in concentration, struggling to put into words some of the jumbled feelings sloshing around his head as he continued walking along.

"Fayt is just… _different_," Albel said at last.

_ >>I thought you two had a lot in common?>> _

"I mean, he's different from everyone else," Albel clarified, feeling annoyed at the Crimson Scourge for nitpicking, and wondering why he was even discussing this sort of stuff which belonged to the realm of girly sleepovers. "When people look at me, all they see is the captain who razed those villages in the north and who's spilt innocent blood. No one's willing to forget all that in a hurry, so everyone holds those campaigns against me."

_ >>Forgiveness isn't the easiest virtue to muster, I do admit…>> _The Crimson Scourge started to say.

Albel shook his head impatiently, pushing an overhanging branch on the path out of his way. "I've never wanted _forgiveness._ Feeling sorry won't bring those lives back or make families stop snivelling, so why dwell on what's already been done? I'm no emotional fool. The simple fact of the matter is that the maggots out there can't differentiate between killing in hot or cold blood!"

_ >>And the young one can, I presume.>> _The Crimson Scourge concluded, not even bothering to frame its statement as a question.

"Of course he can. Fayt is the only one who's bothered to separate duty and hate, unlike certain sentimental fools who can't even see past their own pathetic grudges to realise all that killing was nothing personal. Why can't anyone else see I was just doing my _job_?"

_ >>Maybe it's not a bad thing actually, otherwise you'd be madly in love with the entire planet!>> _The Crimson Scourge pointed out, both amused and pleased that it had finally coaxed Albel into have some semblance of a proper conversation. The gates of Peterny were looming in the distance though, and the Crimson Scourge felt a twinge of disappointment that the conversation was going to have to end. One more thing had to be said before it was confined to its scabbard again.

_ >>I might as well tell you in advance that as the closest parental authority in range, you have my whole hearted approval. There's something about Fayt…>> _– The Crimson Scourge hesitated for a moment, wondering why that sounded like one of the movies it had watched recently on the _Diplo _pay TV channel after sneakily charging it to Albel's bank account – _ >>… which is inherently good for you and I'll gut you if you let him get away. Hurry up and make him yours already!>> _

"I've been _trying _to-"Albel started to angrily protest.

_ >>Pardon my French, but your warped, and at times downright violent concept of "try" has brought us nothing but craptacular results all day!>> _The Crimson Scourge interrupted sharply. Albel looked at the sword sullenly but said nothing to dissuade it from its line of thinking.

_ >>Just promise me one thing.>> _ The Crimson Scourge requested as it dutifully hopped back into its scabbard upon Albel's approaching of the Peterny gates.

"What?" Albel said warily.

_ >>Please please PLEASE for the love of Leingod, make an effort to get along with shop keepers from this point onwards. I don't think you appreciate yet the difficulty of buying goods when every merchant in a ten mile radius has put out a Nox restraining order!>> _If the Crimson Scourge had eyeballs, it most certainly would have rolled them. _ >>Take this more seriously, hmm? Your wooing credentials are going to plummet if you go back to the inn with absolutely nothing to account for after a whole day's work.>> _

It was reasonable advice duly noted, and Albel made do with acknowledging it with a scowl.

_ >>You'll have to speak up. I can't hear you.>> _The Crimson Scourge said tartly.

"Alright alright!" Albel snapped, throwing his hands up in defeat as he marched over the gate threshold into Peterny. It wasn't that he had a vendetta against anyone wanting to make a sale – it was just the way they hovered like harpies, breathing down his neck as they tried force-feeding him spectacular hyperbole which made him lash backwards with one foot into their unprotected shin bones. Force of habit he supposed, but one which he was going to have to nip at the bud for at least the rest of the day. The last thing Albel wanted was to trigger a flash of disappointment in Fayt's perpetually smiling emerald eyes upon his return to the inn in the evening…

"Yo, Albel! Didn't think you were still around!"

Albel involuntarily jumped at the unexpected sound of his name, and his eyes flashed across the people milling about the street in search of the speaker. Finally he detected Cliff Fittir reclining by a lamp post nearby, cheerfully waving a greeting. The frown Albel always wore on his face grew deeper. He wasn't too keen on being seen affiliating with the goofy Klausian in public. The two of them certainly weren't chums, and Albel would've preferred keeping their current collaboration on a strictly professional level, but Cliff was already trotting towards him and he resisted the urge to stalk off in the opposite direction. Being _chased _by Cliff, hill-billy style, would've looked even more damning.

"Figured you'd be back at the inn by now. Or don't you know Fayt's sitting butt-naked in the tub?" Cliff winked conspiratorially.

Albel stiffened at that piece of information. Unfortunately, in more ways than one.

"Whoa, go easy! I was just japing with you, s'all," Cliff said with a weak grin as Albel's murderous glare started hacking away at him more efficiently than a jackhammer. Cliff was yet to figure out that such banter was lost on the likes of Albel, though it wasn't lost on the Crimson Scourge – the sword wasn't even bothering to hide the fact it was sniggering. Albel administered a discreet whack to the scabbard which he hoped would give the sword a hilt-ache.

"Is that all you came over to tell me?" Albel asked frostily after a few seconds of silence.

"Well, that_ and_ Fayt finds it hard to wash his back so maybe you could help to… hey! _Kidding!_ Just kidding!" Cliff babbled sheepishly as he scurried after Albel who was flouncing away angrily, his already meagre thread of patience having snapped. Cliff was irritatingly persistent though, his long legs allowing him to fall into stride with Albel's stomps despite the swordsman doing his best to shake him off in the market crowd.

"_Maggot!_ Get off my tail!" Albel snarled at last, rounding upon Cliff with all five tapered claws clacking in preparation for a strike.

"You're looking kinda empty-handed there, Nox," Cliff observed cheerfully. "Retail therapy not working?"

Albel narrowed his eyes dangerously but his claws wavered ever so slightly. "Mind your own business!"

"Sorry, but I thought it _was _my business. My idea after all, you know," Cliff chuckled. He placed one hand casually on his hip, totally unfazed that Albel's body was still coiled with tension and ready to lash out at a moment's notice. "Want a tip? No charge, since I'm a real nice guy."

Albel pored over those words in his mind, scanning them for any trace of sarcasm or mockery but the sentence emerged clean.

"Fine. I'm game," Albel accepted, his hand resting warningly on the pommel of the Crimson Scourge to indicate he wasn't to be trifled with any further.

Cliff grinned and pointed in the northern part of town. "See how all the locals are converging in one direction? I just got back from there myself – seems like Annual Fair Month in Greeton's gotten a one week early start, which means the border doors are open."

Albel's picked his ears up off the floor, and even the Crimson Scourge noticeably perked up. This was undoubtedly an _extremely_ welcome turn of events…

"I'm telling you man, that place is full of greatstuff! Check it out! Aren't these way cool?" Cliff said enthusiastically, yanking a backpack off of his shoulders and digging out two of the weirdest pieces of _something_ which Albel had ever seen. He curled his lip, failing to be impressed, and decided that the most diplomatic thing he could do was to just say nothing at all. Drinking mugs shaped like toilet bowls were probably an acquired novelty taste he hadn't yet… well, acquired… but the utility of the mini guillotine with a tiny replica blade and headboard was a total mystery. Somehow, Albel didn't want to meditate on what exactly Cliff planned to chop off with it.

"Did you see any weapon vendors?" Albel asked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah sure… there's gotta be, if that's what you're after…" Cliff said vaguely, too engrossed with trying to pull his pinky out from the guillotine's head hole where he had very stupidly gotten it jammed. Albel decided not to hang around waiting for the blade to come down (though it would've been highly amusing) and strolled past Cliff to head for north Peterny and the Greeton gates.

"See you back at the inn, Nox! I'm gonna make Fayt drink out of my toilet!" Cliff called after Albel while cracking up, but distracted by his mirth, he slapped his hand with the captive pinky against his thigh without thinking.

_ >>Did you hear a girly shriek just then, or was it my imagination?>> _The Crimson Scourge enquired of Albel.

"Who cares?" Albel grunted, shoving his way through the party-going crowd which was trying to squeeze itself through the enormous, ornate gates of Greeton which were now thrown wide open. "Let's try and do this quickly. We'll be losing daylight soon."

_ >>How exciting. I haven't been in this city for years!>> _The Crimson Scourge said with much zeal, totally oblivious to Albel's non-stop swearing as he was helplessly caught up by the flow of the mob like a piece of refuse in a raging river. Sandwiched between two overweight housewives, Albel forced his face out of the flab from the one in front and took a much needed gasp of air before they suddenly separated, jostling him out of the crowd onto the Greeton pavement in a bedraggled puddle of limbs.

The Crimson Scourge worked itself out of its scabbard, poking Albel's mangled body incessantly with the butt end of its hilt. _ >>Buy me a balloon, oh Wicked One!>> _

"You're ten thousand years old. _Act like it!"_ Albel rasped, pushing himself up from the ground and picking out gum which had gotten stuck in his hair. The crowd in the Peterny marketplace had absolutely _nothing _on the one which was packed into the bitumen streets of Greeton, swarming around the booths lined on the footpaths and knocking over roadblocks as fast as Fair Security could set them up. Albel paused to look around him in wonder. He'd visited the city once before as part of a diplomatic Airyglyphian convoy, but that had been many years ago and Greeton had used the time in between then and now to develop architecturally. Steel and glass building blocks seemed to scrape cloud linings high above, sprouting like artificial toadstools out of a metropolitan lawn sprawling with closely packed buildings and snaking black tar roads. Not a patch of green grass or forest as far as the eye could see; the loud clamour and chaos of the urban jungle was all consuming and ambient. Mixed in with the celebratory feel of the crowd and the colourful streamers and city flags flapping through the air, the sensory assault and culture shock was almost overwhelming.

_ >>Get a grip on yourself, oh Wicked One! Let's start shop trawling!>> _The Crimson Scourge cut through Albel's disorientation with its surly voice, nudging Albel in the direction of a busy bazaar. The buildings on either side of the paved walkway were topped with exotic trimming and serpentine dragons, though Albel had never known dragons to be represented without wings. Greeton sure was strange.

_ >>This place looks interesting. Let's try here.>> _The Crimson Scourge suggested, pointing at a dimly lit, foreboding looking building tucked between the shadowy alcove of two larger shops. The name of the shop was painted on a large overhanging board in faded paint, but the calligraphic script was unfamiliar to the eye.

"I don't know…" Albel started to mutter, but allowed the Crimson Scourge to shepherd him up the old wooden stairs leading into the dark interior of the store. Tattle bells fixed to the top of the door chimed as he swung the door open, letting sunlight pour onto the dusty floorboards and the outside breeze to disturb layers of dust which had settled on everything in the small room.

_ >>Creepy!>> _The Crimson Scourge said in a hushed voice as the two of them took in the dilapidated state of the store's shelves, and the rotten look of the dusty wares on display. A row of candles behind the shop counter was the only real source of illumination. Firelight reflected off strands of cobwebs dusting the wooden counter, and lit up the space enough to reveal a wizened, white haired shopkeeper regarding Albel with weird golden eyes.

"Greetings customers," the shopkeeper drawled with a heavy oriental accent which Albel couldn't place. The floppy strands of a white moustache drooped from either side of the man's face like whiskers on a catfish. Periodically, he raised a slender pipe to his mouth to puff out clouds of eye-watering purple smoke.

Best to get this over and done with. "Hello," Albel replied flatly, remembering he'd promised the Crimson Scourge to be more civil. "What do you sell?"

"We sell forbidden objects from places men fear to tread," the shopkeeper whispered ominously, causing the Crimson Scourge to squeak and duck behind Albel's legs. Suddenly, the shopkeeper's face lit up. "We also sell chicken flavoured yoghurt, which I call 'Chogurt'!"

Albel looked down at the Crimson Scourge, who shrugged.

"Do you sell swords?" Albel tried again.

The shopkeeper considered this query, sucking leisurely at the mouth of his pipe with wet smacking noises. "For work, pleasure or miscellaneous…?"

"Gift," Albel clarified, fishing in the waistband of his skirt for the unflattering photo of Fayt which Cliff had generously given him several chapters… er I mean… days ago. The photo was looking rather crumpled, not to mention it was heated through after being tucked right above Albel's toasty buttocks the whole day, but Albel shoved it in the direction of the shopkeeper anyway. "For him. I want the best you've got."

The shopkeeper squinted at the photo through a tiny pair of spectacles fixed atop a metal stick and grinned, looking as though he were mulling over some internal dialogue with his inner shopkeeping child. "Perhaps this shall please the young geek…?"

He dipped his hand below the counter and brought out a long horizontal object wrapped in fresh bubble wrap which he carelessly flicked aside. The Crimson Scourge immediately pounced on it, happily squashing as many bubbles as it could with the base of its hilt before Albel grabbed it and gave it a disciplinary slap.

"What type of sword _is _this?" Albel demanded as he studied what had been laid before his eyes. He picked up the proffered weapon, stunned that something so big felt so incredibly weightless. For all purposes the thing looked like a sword but it just felt… _different_, as though there was absolutely no substance to it at all! The blade gleamed with metallic light in the luminance thrown by the candles, but when Albel ran an experimental finger along the edge, he threw the whole sword down in disgust.

"It's not even sharp! This thing couldn't even slice my finger!" Albel snapped, picking up the sword again to hack at one finger in order to prove his point. The blade bounced harmlessly off his skin, and a hollow noise echoed through the empty insides of the husk of the sword upon impact with his flesh. The shopkeeper looked totally nonplussed at Albel's outburst, taking the sword back in one gnarled hand.

"Of course it isn't sharp. You're evidently not from around here, if you've never encountered the substance known as _plastic_," the shopkeeper explained, rapping the hollow sword with one fist for emphasis. Suddenly, he lowered his voice. "Don't be fooled by appearances, boy. As inefficient this weapon is at carving through flesh, its magical qualities lie elsewhere, made possible by the talents of the capitalistic God of plastic known as Mattel! Come closer, and I'll show you!"

The shopkeeper beckoned to Albel with a skinny finger and against his better judgment but mostly to sate his curiosity, Albel shuffled up to the counter from where he'd been sulking in the penumbra cast by the candlelight. The Crimson Scourge was intrigued as well, and even hopped right onto the counter to get a close-up slice of the action.

"_Watch,"_ the shopkeeper said in a dramatic hushed voice, his index finger hovering over a red button set into bottom of the sword hilt. Entranced, Albel and the Crimson Scourge leaned in even closer, transfixed right up to the point when the shopkeeper's finger pushed the button down firmly…

>>I AM HE-MAN, THE MOST POWERFUL MAN IN THE UNIVERSE!>>

"**_IT TALKS!" _**Albel and the Crimson Scourge simultaneously screeched. In his shock, Albel attempted to jump into the Crimson Scourge's arms but remembered too late that it didn't _have _arms. Instead, Albel landed in the midst of the dust bunnies on the floor with an almighty thump, squishing the Crimson Scourge beneath his pert round ass cheeks in the process.

The shopkeeper smiled broadly at his customers' reactions, showcasing a set of teeth stained yellow by tea and tobacco. "I take it you're impressed…?"

Blocking out the nagging ache in his butt, Albel scrambled back to his feet and snatched the sword from the shopkeeper's grasp. "Can you hear me? Say something else!" He practically yelled at the length of plastic, shaking it until the mechanical voice box inside started rattling noisily.

The shopkeeper stayed Albel's hand. "Yelling won't do any good, boy. The sword possesses no intelligent consciousness, unlike your companion down there…" He gestured towards the Crimson Scourge which had managed to scrape its flattened form off the wooden boards, and was threatening to saw off Albel's hair tails for giving it the most enormous hernia in history. "Press the button to hear it speak again!"

Albel's hand fumbled clumsily along the hilt of the sword until his fingers found contact with the same button as before.

>>BY THE POWER OF GRAYSKULL! I HAVE THE POWER!>>

Albel jumped but kept his hold on the sword. The voice was tinny and filled with background noise plus it sounded horribly cheesy, but nonetheless it was incredibly _loud! _Not to mention he was so used to the sound of the Crimson Scourge's mental voice that it was strange to hear a sword actually speaking out loud for once… even if what it was saying was total gibberish.

"Shall we start negotiating a price then?" The shopkeeper suggested gleefully.

Albel glanced at the Crimson Scourge. "What do you think?"

_ >>Don't jump the gun too early, oh Wicked One. Ask for a starting price, and then we'll leave to shop around to compare.>> _The Crimson Scourge advised. _ >>You men are all the same, wanting to pick out the first thing that falls in your lap!>> _

Albel turned back to the shopkeeper who had resumed sucking noisily on his pipe. "Give us a starting price first."

"For you…" The shopkeeper said slowly, rubbing his bearded chin with long thoughtful strokes, "… we'll start at 100 fol. And that's because this object carries a terrible curse."

"That's bad," Albel frowned.

"But it comes with a free Chogurt!" The shopkeeper said enthusiastically.

The Crimson Scourge nudged Albel's leg. _ >>That's good!>> _

"The Chogurt is also cursed," the shopkeeper said menacingly.

_ >>Oooh, that's bad.>> _The Crimson Scourge winced.

"But it comes with your choice of topping!" The shopkeeper said brightly.

"That's good…" Albel conceded.

"The topping contains Potassium Benzoate," the shopkeeper hissed.

Albel and the Crimson Scourge looked blank.

"That's bad," the shopkeeper said helpfully.

"We're… going now," Albel said with painstaking politeness, slowly setting the sword back on the counter and backing away. The Crimson Scourge didn't need to be told twice, since it was already making a mad dash for the door with enormous frog-like leaps. Albel bolted after it like a cut cat.

_ >>Okaaaay. That was strange.>> _The Crimson Scourge made its second understatement of the century that day as it re-entered the welcoming sunlight, with Albel not far behind.

"I've no idea what happened to give you that impression…" Albel muttered sarcastically, brushing off any remainder of dust still clinging to his clothes. "Anyway, let's go. I'm sure we can find a shopkeeper who _isn't _a weirdo if we try."

_ >>May I suggest we actually look for authentic dealers this time?>> _The Crimson Scourge said as Albel resumed travelling up the rest of the bazaar. _ >>You're taller than me. What do the signs on those stores say?>> _

"No words, only symbols. Nothing I recognise," Albel said, wondering why he was suddenly seeing so many skanky men and women loitering along the street corners and in alleys between buildings. Their stylists had obviously been high on goof balls when dressing them, judging by all the overly skirts resembling napkins, boob busting tops and short shorts as far as the eye could see. Everything looked positively seedy, but tourist that he was, Albel figured that everyone had lousy dress sense in Greeton.

_ >>Interesting neighbourhood, don't you think? And the locals are so friendly!>> _The Crimson Scourge said happily, curtseying in the direction of a platinum blonde in a figure busting dress waving at it coyly. The Crimson Scourge hurried to catch up to Albel, who had stopped in front of a large black coloured building and was studying the huge billboard fixed above the entrance.

"This is the closest thing to our dialect that I've seen all day!" Albel said, pointing at the sign which was emblazoned with a huge depiction of a sword in flashing neon tubes. Instead of the weird calligraphic language on most of the other store signs, the name of the establishment was displayed in comprehensible words in equally bright lights beside the image.

_ >>"Swordomisers"?>> _The Crimson Scourge mouthed slowly. _ >>What an unusual name. Do you think they accept Elicoor Express, or cash only?>> _

"If they sell decent swords then I don't really care," Albel said shortly. He was already ascending the shiny black stairs, and the Crimson Scourge shook itself out of its musings to follow after its master. There was no proper door, with only long strips of black leather framing the entrance, and the smell of cow hide was strong on the senses as Albel and the Crimson Scourge pushed their way through.

"Is Greeton adverse to using interior lighting or are they just plain _cheap_?" Albel bitched as he banged his ankle painfully against an unseen sideboard. The corridor they were in was narrow and cramped, covered with black wallpaper and enveloped in darkness the colour of pitch. "Stop stepping on my heels! You're loosening my shoes!"

_ >>But a magic sword could get hurt in a spooky place like this!>> _The Crimson Scourge sniffed unhappily as it dogged Albel close enough to pin his skirt to the floor. It wasn't very fond of the dark. It was with some relief then that it espied a patch of grey in the distance, and the flickering suggestion of some form of weak lighting through another open doorway framed with leather strips.

Albel broke through the doorway, swatting away the swinging leather strips with no small amount of irritation. The lighting in this new room wasn't much better than the candles in the first store, with the only source of light and warmth coming from a few flaming torches on the walls.

"I thought Greeton was supposed to be technologically advanced! What's with the torches?" Albel hissed at the Crimson Scourge from the corner of his mouth.

"It's just so much more ro_man_tic, dahling!" A loud, high pitched voice rang out from somewhere in the darkness, and Albel whirled about in surprise.

"Who's there? Show yourself, worm!" Albel ordered, momentarily forgetting about making an effort to be polite. As his eyes darted around the shadowed sections of the room, he finally detected a slight shifting of living forms and the sound of leather chafing against leather. After a few more seconds, Albel's eyes adjusted to the gloom, upon which he realised there was more than one person in the room. Several individuals were lurking in a corner, their outlines barely discernable in the scanty light, and the glow from the fire was catching off the sheen from their tight black garments. Albel had never seen PVC before in his life and didn't really know what to make of it, but it was the unmistakeable glint of steel chains and leather whips in their hands which perked his mood. At last, Greetonites with weapons and the wherewithal to use them!

"Hi there sweetie. Looking for a good time, or did you turn a wrong corner?" One of the members of the group intoned in a fluttery voice. The speaker was male, and so were the others if the masculine giggling which followed that remark was anything to go by.

Albel certainly did _not _appreciate being called 'sweetie' by a bloke who looked as though he'd skinned a whole herd of cows just to sew his thigh-hugging pants, but the Crimson Scourge gave Albel a warning poke in the leg, so he clamped down on his angry retort.

"Do you sell swords here?" Albel asked, cutting straight to the chase.

That question which sounded completely ordinary to Albel's ears set off the giggling again, much to Albel's growing consternation. "Would you maggots kindly tell me what you find so funny!"

"Ohhhh! He's a feisty one, isn't he boys?" One of the men crowed, and the others all cheered and whooped their agreement. "Well now dahling, I daresay _hope_ we have what you're looking for. Why don't you come a little closer, and maybe we'll show you a little somethin'?"

Albel glanced at the Crimson Scourge, who had been leaving it to Albel to do all the talking so far.

_ >>Right behind you, oh Wicked One. They seem to be friendly enough, if not a little… odd.>> _

That was putting it tactfully, which was surprising since the Crimson Scourge seemed to have no tact whatsoever when it came to nagging and scolding Albel. Either way, its pointy presence was reassuring in this hideaway for nutcases, so Albel minced forward towards the leather-bound men.

"Why 'you looking for a sword, hot stuff?" One of them asked, flicking a whip with a feathery handle for emphasis. "The one you've got there is _mighty_ long and shiny…"

Albel missed the innuendo and thus remained unfazed. "I know I've already got one. I need one for _him_."

He brandished the photo of Fayt in front of the men, who immediately crowded around in a leathery huddle, and started spouting high-pitched squeals and fanning themselves with their studded hands.

"Oh! Isn't he _adorable_?"

"Cheeks you could just pinch…!"

"Mmm… soft and supple in all the right places, wouldn't you agree?"

Albel was a little taken aback at the men's enthusiasm, but he couldn't help but feel a little proud of showing off Fayt, even if the real thing wasn't there in the flesh. Despite their weird fixation with leather, at least these guys knew a good catch when they saw one. Albel crossed his arms casually and permitted a small smirk to grace his face. "He _is _pretty cute. And he looks even better than in that photo."

That set the men off again, cracking their whips and rattling their chains, and the Crimson Scourge couldn't resist snorting in Albel's head. _ >>Dirty rotten bragger!>> _

"But _dah_ling, his sword looks right fine," one of the men said with a happy sigh when the group finally quietened down. "Why would your baby boy need something _synthetic_?"

Albel assumed the guy was referring to the sword strapped to Fayt's back in the photo, so without hesitation he replied, "Because I just broke it today."

"**GASP!"** The whole group chorused in unison, clamping their hands over their mouths in titillated disbelief. "You _didn't_! How?"

Quite frankly, Albel didn't know what the big fuss was about but he decided to answer anyway. "I broke his sword with my sword. It's no big deal."

Apparently it _was _a big deal, since two of the burliest leather-clad men squeaked in shock and fainted on the spot while the rest tittered behind their hands, their eyeballs swivelling below Albel's waistline in one synchronised motion.

"It must be built like a brick!"

"_Granite_, even!"

"Pure titanium alloy!"

_ >>I don't know WHAT they're prattling on about. I'm no harder than the average sword, though I am somewhat longer.>> _The Crimson Scourge sniffed as the men started keeling over in anime faints, sporting massive nosebleeds. _ >>Now are they going to sell you a sword or not? The day won't last forever!>> _

"Are you going to sell me a sword or not? Or at least show me the swords you've got?" Albel echoed the Crimson Scourge, tapping his foot impatiently while he waited for the men to stop rolling about the floor. Upon hearing Albel's request, all the men scrambled to their feet and immediately started hustling Albel and the Crimson Scourge towards a large wooden door in the back of the room which neither of them had noticed before. Albel spluttered in surprise as his feet seemed to leave the floor, so fast was he being propelled.

"Don't worry dahling! We'll take real good care of you!"

"Plenty of swords to go around!"

"But we'll only show you ours if you show us _yours_!"

Totally bewildered now, Albel looked up at the approaching door which was fitted with metal bolts and a single sign of identification written in sprawling black paint.

"What the hell is the _"Fun-geon"_?" Albel yelped in alarm just as the massive door swung open, and he was quickly herded inside amid the cat calls and cheers of his male buddies. The rapid shutting of the door blocked out anything else Albel would've liked to say, and a deceptively peaceful silence descended upon the now empty room which still held the lingering smell of leather and Lynx aftershave…

-----------------------------------------

One hour later, it was a more ashen-faced and disheveled Albel Nox who pushed through the leather strips framing the front door to the "sword" shop, followed closely by an equally shell-shocked Crimson Scourge.

They descended the stairs without saying anything and calmly retraced their way back towards the bazaar, neither of them willing to be the first to speak into the silence. They calmly travelled by the line of stores they'd passed on their way up, and calmly found a vacant courtesy seat along the street upon which to sit and rest.

Albel stared straight ahead as though the mud puddle on the far side of the road was the most fascinating thing in existence, still refusing to loosen his tongue.

Suddenly, the Crimson Scourge broke the silence.

_ >>I liked the part when they got you on all fours and made you bark like a dog…**EEP!**>> _

The Albel statue abruptly came alive and seized the Crimson Scourge with an iron grip, throttling its hilt so firmly within his claws that it was a wonder the metal guard didn't pop off.

"Let's make a _deal_," Albel purred with silky menace, his fiery glare boring into the Crimson Scourge as he pronounced his words slowly and deliberately.

_ >>Yes…?>> _The Crimson Scourge whimpered.

"We'll never speak of that again…" Albel proposed with the type of heavy menace which always preceded his worded threats, "…or I'll tell the Airyglyph Gazette how the venerable Crimson Scourge was used as a substitute for a _spanking paddle_."

_ >>Agreed.>> _The Crimson Scourge said weakly.

Satisfied, Albel released the Crimson Scourge and dusted off his hands, pushing himself off the seat to scan the surrounding shops in a bid to return to his original task before that… interruption to end all interruptions.

"Let's go. We've still got a lot of ground to cover on this single street," Albel said in the authoritative tone he usually reserved for his Black Brigade troops.

But before Albel and the Crimson Scourge could recommence walking along the bazaar, an explosion of cheering and applause suddenly erupted from a neighbouring road. Albel turned towards the source of the noise, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"What's going on?" Albel asked the Crimson Scourge.

_ >>Why do you always expect me to have all the answers? It's not like I know everything!>> _The Crimson Scourge grumbled, still feeling a little sore at its ill treatment by Albel's hands and thus in no hurry to reply. A few seconds of silence ticked by in which Albel waited for the Crimson Scourge to crack, one finger tapping against his thigh.

_ >>But I'll have you know that I believe it's the annual bunny races.>> _The Crimson Scourge said at last, unable to resist the temptation of showing up Albel in the know-all department.

"Like the ones in Kirlsa with the Lums?" Albel pondered, thinking back on all the times the three Airyglyphian Brigades had escorted their King to the event with much pomp and ceremony. Albel had never been fond of Lums personally, but he'd always looked forward to the week-long carnival associated with the racing. If Greeton had adopted a similar celebration, then no doubt they'd have given the event a different twist which Albel was curious to investigate.

_ >>Sort of. I heard about it when we crossed through that Gemity town a little while ago… Greeton and Gemity have a sort of partnership when it comes to staging races, with Gemity supplying the chargers.>> _The Crimson Scourge explained, proving that it probably_ did_ know everything there was to know under the Eternal Sphere sun. _ >>I don't think it's anything you'd find very intere->> _

"We're here already, so let's have a look," Albel interrupted. "It won't take long."

_ >>But what about sword shopping? They're just races, it's not like you haven't seen them before…!>> _The Crimson Scourge sounded a little panicky for some reason but Albel had already turned on his heels and was setting off in search of the source of the noise. Wringing its blade in worry, the Crimson Scourge had no choice but to follow.

Fresh applause broke out not too far away, and the moment Albel turned off the bazaar into a smaller side street, a thick crowd of cheering punters immediately came into view. The people were packed closely around the circumference of a large bunny racing circuit which was rimmed with billboard advertisements, flashing lights and bunches of shiny helium balloons. Every ten seconds, race organisers dotted among the crowd threw handfuls of colourful confetti into the air much to the delight of the spectators and young children, and it all looked very festive indeed. Albel couldn't figure out why the Crimson Scourge was acting so jumpy.

_ >>We came, we saw, can we leave now?>> _The Crimson Scourge begged.

"BUNNY BUNNY!"

Albel jumped in astonishment as a gravelly voice sounded loudly in his ear but when he whirled around in search of the perpetrator, not a single face in the crowd matched the description of that voice.

"Who's there?" Albel demanded angrily, turning this way and that with his clawed gauntlet cocked at the ready. The Crimson Scourge had been getting more fidgety with every passing second, but any fragments of self control it harboured within its pointy blade simply flew away at the sound of that dreaded voice. The sword made a frantic lunge for Albel, hooking its cross guard in the waistband of his skirt and forcefully trying to tow him away from the racing crowd. Non-surprisingly, Albel's reaction was anything but forthcoming.

"_GET OFF!" _Albel bellowed, finding himself forced to undertake some hardcore multi-tasking which involved making his displeasure _very _loudly known while trying to push off the Crimson Scourge with one hand, while trying to hitch up his loosening skirt with the other, while aiming a kick at a precocious toddler who had toddled by to peep up Albel's garments in order to confirm or disprove his male gender for the benefit of a bunch of nearby kids.

_ >>Let's go! Nothing to see here! Greeton's real boring, wouldn't you agree?>> _The Crimson Scourge gabbled, relentlessly yanking at Albel's skirt, but Albel had managed to dig his heels into the cracks between the pavement stones and was more concerned with winning the desperate tug-o-war going on between them. After all, Albel had more to lose in the form of a falling skirt and the prospect of being arrested for indecent thong exposure as a direct result. The Airyglyph paparazzi would have an absolute field day!

"What the HELL is your problem, you stupid stick?" Albel panted, his feet scrabbling against the stones as his skirt struggled to fight its losing battle with gravity. "Does this have anything to do with-"

"BUNNY BUNNY!"

"_Aaaaghhh!_" Albel roared in fright as a wrinkly, sunbaked face topped with floppy pink bunny ears suddenly shoved its way into his comfort zone, hovering so close to Albel's face that he could see his own gaping expression reflected in a pair of bulging eyeballs infused with 100 mania. His first reaction was to jerk away but he forgot that the Crimson Scourge was still inconveniently anchoring him by the waistband, and the sword hadn't anticipated the move either…

_ >>WHOAAAA!>> _The Crimson Scourge hollered at the unexpected twist of Albel's body which broke the stalemate between them, and sent the sword on a flying trajectory straight for the middle of Albel's head. Its pommel bounced off Albel's forehead with a very loud "plonk", knocking him onto his already bruised ass for the second time in less than an hour.

"Bunny? Bunny bunny!"

Albel shook away the Sooties dancing across his dazed vision, but he started wishing that he'd kept his eyes closed as the extraordinarily weird newcomer came into focus. Albel couldn't tell whether the… thing…was even human, all dolled up in a bright pink bunny suit that it was, staring down at his outstretched body from where it was squatting on its haunches on the pavement. It was close enough for Albel to catch a whiff of its carrot-scented breath and he jumped to his feet quickly, backing away in disgust.

_ >>Oh brother…>> _ The Crimson Scourge had also recovered from the collision and was now looking mightily pained, figuratively speaking.

The guy in the bunny suit (for that was indeed what it was) peered up at Albel, lolloping forward with both "paws" extended and twitching his nose which was coloured with a spot of black paint. The Crimson Scourge backed away a little, trying to look as inconspicuous as it could so that it could try to beat a hasty retreat behind Albel's legs. Luck was against it though – floodlight enveloping the racing circuit sent stray beams of light arcing across the crowd, some of which bounced off the Crimson Scourge's immaculately polished blade. Mr Bunny Suit squeaked in elation at the metallic flash of light and to Albel's surprise and the Crimson Scourge's immense aggravation, Mr Bunny Suit leapt through the air and embraced the sword with a truly awesome flying glomp.

Albel courteously stepped out of the way to make room for the ensuing tumbling ball of bunny suit, weird guy and shrieking sword which eventually unfurled, revealing Mr Bunny Suit adoringly snuffling at the Crimson Scourge which was squirming helplessly between his two enormous furry paws. _ >>Don't just STAND there! HELP ME!>> _The sword yelled in Albel's direction, evidently infuriated at its master's indolence.

But Albel had no intention of lending a hand to rid the Crimson Scourge of its deranged fan boy… at least not right away. A sadistic smirk crept across Albel's face and he casually crossed both arms, tilting his head to one side. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

_ >>What's there to tell? I'm being DROOLED upon!>> _The Crimson Scourge's mind voice was increasing in volume, pitch and screech factor with every sloppy kiss being planted on its hilt, but Albel paid no attention to the havoc being wrecked upon his ear drums.

"You did a rather pathetic job of trying to keep me away from here," Albel said matter-of-factly. "Care to tell me what it all had to do with this… _thing_?"

_ >>Scrape it off me, then we'll talk!>> _

"Nice try," Albel said shortly. "Anyone else in the same situation would've talked by now, but you're still holding back. The second I get you free, you're going to bolt aren't you? So tell me…" Albel started circling the captive Crimson Scourge at an unhurried, but sinister pace, "… what's so important that you think even _I'm_ going to pound your blade into the pavement if you say it out loud?"

Albel didn't think it was possible for the Crimson Scourge to look even more trapped, but if swords had been fitted with glands then it would most certainly have been sweating them out. Albel didn't have to say anything further – the multiple layers of spittle which Mr Bunny Suit was applying to the Crimson Scourge was proving more effective than boiling oil and torture racks combined.

_ >>ThisisBoyd.>> _

Albel frowned in confusion, unable to decipher the piece of telepathic gibberish which had shot through his head. "What?"

_ >>ThisisBoyd!>> _

"If you don't start making sense soon…" Albel expertly dropped the level of his voice to all new dangerous lows, "… _I'm going to start kissing you too." _

The Crimson Scourge convulsed in sheer, utter panic. _ >>This. Is. BOYD!>> _

Albel's eyes widened in shock at that pronouncement and he looked closer at Mr Bunny Suit, for the first time recognising the drooling, nose-twitching human encased by all that synthetic pink fur. "BOYD? As in… legendary-sword-smith-and-all-round-impossible-to-hire-due-to-astronomical-hiring-fees _Boyd?"_

_ >>Maybe! Now get me out of here!>> _The Crimson Scourge wailed as the now identified Boyd started hugging it so tightly that it popped several internal magic gaskets.

"Oh no, not until you tell me how he _got_ like this!" Albel spluttered, his arms flailing. It just seemed so totally preposterous that Boyd, the most sought after smith in Gaitt who made forging swords look as easy as popping candy had been so suddenly reduced to… to… actually, Albel didn't even _know _if there was an official medical name for Boyd's current degenerative mental state. "Bunnies On the Brain" was a good starting point though.

_ >>Well… you see… it's like this…>> _The Crimson Scourge fumbled.

"Go on," Albel said ominously.

_ >>You know how um… living things can get… well… somewhat "mentally unbalanced" if they er…>> _

"Just spit it out!"

_ >>…iftheytouchmewithoutaskingIcan'thelpitthat'sjusttherulesIdidn'tmaketherulesIjustfollowthemgottagoseeyou!>> _The Crimson Scourge sent one last frantic barrage of words down its telepathic connection with Albel, all of which impacted with the inside of his head like consecutive hammer blows. With Albel momentarily sent reeling, the Crimson Scourge made one last valiant attempt to wrestle free of Boyd's amorous hold so that it could hop on the next celestial ship heading for the outer reaches of the cosmos. Too bad it hadn't counted on how all its nagging during the past few months had toughened up Albel's brain to even the severest of its verbal onslaughts. Just as the Crimson Scourge looked as though it was getting somewhere by using its spit bath to grease itself out of Boyd's grip, it hopped right out of Boyd's embrace and into the spiky cage of Albel's claws.

_ >>Have I told you lately how much I admire and respect you…?>> _The Crimson Scourge batted non-existent eyelashes as Albel dangled it inelegantly before his stony face.

"Let me get this straight…" Albel said in deadly hushed tones. "Because of you… this man who's been commissioned by our own king on multiple occasions and who could _very _easily have crafted the finest sword money could buy for Fayt due to my connections with the Airyglyph military… thinks he's a _rabbit_?"

"Bunny bunny!" The bunnified Boyd chirped cheerfully, as though readily confirming Albel's worst fears.

_ >>Er… yes, that's the general gist of it.>> _The Crimson Scourge said meekly.

Albel yanked the sword to eye level, letting his most potent double shotgun glare drill two smoky holes into the surface of the Crimson Scourge's blade. "Heal him. **NOW**."

_ >>Ah… well…here's the thing. It's not so simple.>> _The Crimson Scourge laughed nervously, though it could already feel an imaginary noose tightening around its hilt. _ >>You see um… that's why I get the king to read the fine print before wannabes try to wield me. If you fail, I eat your soul and er… turn you into a drooling moron. No refunds. But he wanted to try anyway and look where it got him – six months on and he STILL thinks he's a pink quadruped!>> _

"Are you saying you can't reverse the effect?" Albel practically roared.

_ >>Yes! I mean… NO! I mean… well… any cure is out of MY hands but there might be another way…>> _The Crimson Scourge said hurriedly, trailing off.

"KEEP TALKING!" Albel bellowed.

_ >>GAH! Okay um… well, you can see Mr Boyd is rather infatuated with shiny swords such as myself, but it's no real surprise since I AM the best looking sword out there and->> _The Crimson Scourge took one look at Albel's face and wisely chose to reframe its explanation. _ >>Ahem! That's because there's a sword that can heal him. Unfortunately he's now so thick in the head, he can't differentiate between the actual sword and other random swords he sees. This isn't the first time he's groped me, hence my reluctance for you to bring me here…>> _

Albel frowned. "You knew Boyd would be here at the bunny races?"

_ >>Of course!>> _The Crimson Scourge replied witheringly. _ >>He loiters around bunny races because the sword that can heal him is the 4th place prize – the Bent Mystic Blade!>> _

"That's all I needed to hear," Albel said in a clipped tone, ungracefully dropping the Crimson Scourge onto the pavement before marching towards the race ticket booth. The Crimson Scourge righted itself quickly before Boyd could contemplate another adoring lunge at it, and hopped desperately after Albel with Boyd bringing up the rear.

_ >>Wait! Aren't you jumping into this a little too fast?>> _The Crimson Scourge said disapprovingly, prodding Albel's leg as he stepped up to the plump Nobleman who was manning the ticket booth.

"After spending six months subjected to the type of miserable lifestyle which only the tiny brain of a rabbit can offer, I hardly doubt Boyd would call what I'm doing hasty!" Albel rejoined angrily.

_ >>He's not the only smith on Gaitt capable of forging good quality swords. This is just going to be a total waste of time and expenditure.>> _

Albel shoved a handful of fol at the Nobleman and snatched up the ticket offered to him. "Well _that's _a convenient change of tune. What happened to "money should be no object"?"

_ >>I meant within reason! Blowing it all before you've even bought anything is just plain moronic!>> _

"For your information… I don't intend to lose," Albel said, his voice steely and his eyes flashing with dangerous resolve as he squeezed the ticket in his claws. "If healing Boyd is how I'm going to get the best possible sword for Fayt, then that's precisely what I'm going to do!"

_ >>Wow. So this is what it's like trying to reason with a brick.>> _The Crimson Scourge said sarcastically. _ >>You and your insufferable one track mind! EVERY person living between Airyglyph and Aquaria has enough sense to know that these events are rig->> _

"Sir! You'll have to select a sub-category for your Class C ticket sir! Buy to win or buy Perfecta sir?" The ticket booth Nobleman asked in a bubbly fashion, very conveniently cutting short what the Crimson Scourge was on the verge of saying to Albel.

"_Buy to win_," Albel replied with emphasis, glaring meaningfully at the Crimson Scourge. The sword sniffed and projected a visual of a one-finger salute down their mental connection. "Put it on bunny number one."

"Excellent choice sir! You can watch the race from this vantage point sir!" The Nobleman enthused, skipping out from the booth to personally lead Albel to a vacant booth overlooking the circuit track. The Crimson Scourge reluctantly followed in their wake, impatiently herding the lolloping Boyd ahead of it with the flat of its blade.

"Enjoy the race sir! Just refrain from asking about that door to the left of you marked "Top Secret Room" sir!" The Nobleman said cheerily as Albel and the Crimson Scourge got themselves seated, with Boyd settling at their feet wagging his fluff ball of a tail.

Albel looked in the direction the Nobleman was pointing in. "What? You mean the door in this building right next to us?"

Suddenly, five Noblemen with fake orange tans, snot green hair and daggy striped clothes appeared out of nowhere, dancing and singing in a crooked conga line.

"Oompa Loompa Dinkity Dor! You should not ask about the top secret door…!" They started to chorus, before one of the Noblemen fell out of line and stamped one bell-tipped foot in frustration.

"Aw _fuck! _It never ends up sounding right!" He shrieked, jumping up and down on the spot.

Albel slid his eyes in a sideways glance towards the Crimson Scourge, who for the second time that day could only shrug.

"The race is starting sir!" The Nobleman from the booth piped up, gesturing towards the starting line of the circuit where four bunnies in four colourful shades had finished taking their marks, and were bouncing frantically down their lanes at the sound of the starter gun.

Amid the deafening cheers from the crowd, the Crimson Scourge sidled up to Albel, inspecting the ticket in his grasp. _ >>Charger #1 – "She Can't Lose!">> _Its mind voice sounded characteristically wry._ >>Getting suckered in by hyperbole, oh Wicked One?>> _

"It's just a name. Of course it doesn't have any _meaning_!" Albel said defensively, though secretly the name of the Bunny in question had held certain appeal, since _anything_ that could help him get out of this venture as a winner was more than welcome. Albel knew that the pressure was well and truly on – not only did he need to get the best sword ever created for Fayt alone to wield, and not only did he need to amass enough winning points to get that blasted bent blade to make that possible, but he also had to prove the Crimson Scourge completely wrong and snag precious gloating rights which would help him win arguments for the next ten years. Beating the Creator into programmer pulp had absolutely _nothing_ on these stakes.

_ >>The race is finished. Did you lose?>> _The Crimson Scourge asked sweetly, barely making itself heard over the ovation echoing around the circuit which greeted the four bunnies as they hopped over the finishing line.

The placements were quickly computed, and the race results were flashed in white lights on a massive billboard overlooking the track. Albel quickly scanned the display in silence.

_ >>Well?>> _

"Shut up. I'm getting another ticket," Albel snapped hurriedly, standing up abruptly. His stormy expression said it all, really.

_ >>Get some nachos too! And tell them to hold the secret sauce!>> _The Crimson Scourge yelled after Albel's stomping figure, but the swordsman was hardly entertaining thoughts of snacks. The Crimson Scourge sighed, leaning back against the bench to await Albel's return, and it idly looked on as the bunnies from the race were shooed out of the circuit and herded up the stands towards the building right next to its seating area.

_ >>Huh? That's strange…>> _The Crimson Scourge sat up straight, realising that a Nobleman had just ushered the bunnies through the door labelled "Top Secret Room".

"What's strange?" Albel demanded, coming up behind the Crimson Scourge with twenty new tickets clutched in his claws.

_ >>The "Top Secret Room"! The bunnies just went in…>> _The Crimson Scourge started to say, but was cut off by an impatient wave of Albel's free hand.

"I hardly see what's so strange about that," Albel said dismissively. "It's probably some sort of backstage stables area. I don't know why you have to be so suspicious of everything..."

Suddenly, as if waiting for their cue, the same Nobleman conga line from before cartwheeled out of nowhere and flipped on top of each other's backs, creating an instant fake orange tan pyramid.

"Oompa Loompa, Dinkity Duspicious! You should not be acting suspicious!" They chorused.

"Did I ever say I was? _BEAT IT_, orange scum!" Albel yelled at the interruption, yanking off one of his shoes and throwing it at the head of a Nobleman anchoring the pyramid at the bottom. The entire formation disbanded into a bunch of flying Noblemen at the impact, thus proving that the potential for becoming a champion bowler had been largely overlooked during the course of Albel's upbringing.

_ >>Hmm. I suppose you're right. Look, they're bringing out some new chargers from the same door.>> _The Crimson Scourge mused, watching as a Nobleman led four different coloured bunnies out from the building and down the stands to the circuit entrance.

"I can't lose this time. Not with twenty tickets!" Albel rasped through gritted teeth to no one in particular, his resolve building up to the point where even _he _was starting to believe that winning just might be possible. "And don't talk this time, you infernal stick. Your pessimism is bad luck."

_ >>Oh, well I love you too shorty!>> _The Crimson Scourge sniffed, clearly insulted, but Albel was concentrating too keenly on the upcoming race to engage in further mud flinging with his opinionated sword. The Crimson Scourge sighed again, curling up as best as it could on the bench so that it could witness Albel's financial demise in complete, total comfort.

"Bunny bunny?" Boyd chittered inquisitively.

_ >>This ordeal's bad enough without you adding to it!>> _The Crimson Scourge said snippily, even though the words were wasted on Boyd who couldn't hear them. Boyd couldn't take a hint either and clambered up on the bench to fondly pet the Crimson Scourge, somehow sensing it was feeling a bit blue. Having half the genes of a demon was a good thing when it came to forging swords, but the Crimson Scourge started wishing Boyd could channel that strength _anywhere_ except for the paw which was good naturedly hammering it into the wood of the bench.

_ >>This is going to be a looooong evening…>> _The Crimson Scourge groaned in between paw thumps, staring wistfully at the clock hanging over the circuit which just wasn't moving fast enough for its liking…

-----------------------------------------

Firstly, before you start getting weird ideas, NO I've never visited a bondage parlour and don't plan to. XD Secondly, the Bunny Races have got to be the most torturous mini games ever created, born from what is obviously the most sadistic programming mind EVER. Oo Even though Albel might tell me otherwise, Boyd is definitely not worth the trouble, and I tip my hat to anyone who's actually managed to get the 100 points needed to hire him! XP

Next chapter: Conspiracy ahoy at the races, and neither Albel nor the Crimson Scourge like it one bit! Meanwhile, Cliff's adopted dessert goes on a carnivorous rampage, while Fayt questions the sanity of his team mates (and with good cause). Be there when this program step concludes!


	9. Step 2: Give gifts to your lover pt 3

-Palms face- Well bugger me, it seems like nothing's going to plan lately. Oo First… yes I'm horrendously late, and have been berating myself over that fact for quite some time now, but feel free to hit me further with metaphorical frying pans if you so wish. :P Second, EVERYTHING was conspiring against me in getting this chapter completed, ranging from uni work, assignments, home life, art commitments and annoying creative blocks, so this chapter was pieced together bit by bit at an excruciatingly slow pace over many weeks. Third… this chapter grew too big, just like the previous chapter, and had to be sliced in half. So there goes my hopes of rounding up this part of the fic in this chapter. Le sigh. But there was no way in hell I was going to upload a 16 000 word chapter since you all have better things to do than to sit in front of your computer scrolling vertically. :P

If you're wondering why it all never seems to end, I've been carrying all these Step #2 scenarios in my head for the longest time now and I don't want any of them to go to waste, hence why it seems as though I'm never going to shut up. Oo As for what's going on in this latest chapter… well, it went on a really weird tangent, to put it simply. XD One thing's for sure, if this is what happens whenever Albel goes shopping, it could turn into an all new documentary series for the Discovery Channel. AND THEN HE'D BE RICH! MUAHAHA… ahem. Oo

Er yes, the only other thing to note is that there's a homage to Evangelion in this chapter, which is pretty hard to miss. XD For those of you who haven't watched Evangelion, "Seele" is the secret baddie government body in the series which pulls all the strings. For those of you who have watched Evangelion, a lot of the dialogue and scenarios were taken straight out of episode transcripts and from the last movie, so see how much of it you can spot! XD

And I know I can't make you, but since it's been awhile, it might be useful if you re-read the previous chapter before reading this one, since a lot of the things that happened there lead into what happens here. As a result, you might miss some of the connections. :P

-----------------------------------------

"**STEP #2: Give gifts to your lover" (part 3): **

"Really Cliff, I don't know how you get yourself in situations like this…!" Fayt sighed tiredly, flopping back against a roomy armchair in a corner of the Peterny inn lobby. His fingers still tingled with the symbological healing energies he'd had to conjure upon Cliff's exceptionally loud entrance to the inn, but no amount of healing was going to repair Fayt's traumatised mind – the sight of Cliff charging through the doors rattling a severed finger in a hastily vacated pickle jar had been burned into Fayt's brain for all eternity. _Re-attaching _the digit had been even worse since Fayt had never been a great shakes at school sewing class, and he'd had to snitch a needle and thread from Adray's embroidery set which had been lying around in the lobby. Fayt decided not to question the strangeness of a fifty year old soldier enjoying sewing tea doilies as a hobby, tempting as it was to scientifically analyse…

Anyway, now that the task was done, Fayt permitted his tense muscles to relax. He took a sip of hot tea from one of Cliff's new toilet-shaped cups, trying to calm his frazzled nerves.

Cliff in the meantime was reclining on a nearby sofa, and despite the bulky bandage he was sporting on one hand, it wasn't deterring him from admiring the offending guillotine up close. For a few heart stopping seconds, the blade was suspended directly above one of his blinking blue eyeballs. "Whoa! Who'd have thought this thing could pack such a punch?"

"Cliff… stop doing that. You're making me nervous," Fayt pleaded, looking on with trepidation as Cliff carelessly shuffled the little model replica from one hand to another. It had finally become clear as to _why _Klausians healed as fast as they were reputed to – if they healed any slower, or if they were as flippant with bodily injury as Cliff undoubtedly was, the whole lot of them would surely have been extinct by now.

"It's a bad time for you to have gotten hurt, actually," Fayt ventured slowly. "Have you heard about what's been happening in this inn the whole day? I think word has gotten out in the marketplace already."

"Nope, haven't heard nothing. Why, what's up?" Cliff asked nonchalantly, balancing the guillotine on the end of his nose in a marvellous display of total disregard for one's personal safety, wellbeing and longevity.

Fayt executed a quick snap of his fingers and before Cliff could properly protest, the entire guillotine imploded into a shivery pile of atoms.

"Rumour has it there's some sort of man-eating monster hiding in the inn," Fayt went on coolly, and a telltale spark of blue light flickering across his forehead was the only indication that anything out of the ordinary had just occurred. Cliff wisely decided to scoot just a _little_ further back to the end of the couch. "The staff has been disappearing all day, mostly on the bottom floor where we've rented out our rooms! I'm… kind of worried."

"Huh! That's nothing new," Cliff chuckled with a knowing grin, remembering how Fayt had always worried enough for the both of them at the outset of their journeying together. Fayt could be so square to the point of practically becoming cubic, but the tiny part of Cliff's brain which wasn't entirely heterosexual had to admit that Fayt was rather cute when he was fretting like he was now. Fayt's elbow was propped on the armrest of his chair, his boyish face with its perfect pouting lips resting on his upturned hand, while his dreamy green eyes focused on a random speck of dust on the tabletop. Cliff idly wondered whether he should snap the Kodak moment for the benefit of the currently estranged Albel.

"But you see, that's not the strangest part," Fayt went on, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the opposite armrest. "Any staff member who went into _your _room vanished, but nothing happened in the rest of the rooms in any part of the inn…"

Cliff's eyes were saved from bugging out of their sockets by the optic nerves fastening them to the inside of his skull. He sat up with a bolt, trying to prevent the panic swirling in his stomach from materialising on his face. "Er… did anyone see what the monster _looked _like?"

"Well, there's no guarantee that it's a monster causing the problem but…" Fayt rubbed his brow in thought as he recalled what he'd heard that afternoon. "… I think someone mentioned seeing something which looked _green!_ That's how all the monster rumours started."

Cliff smacked his forehead in disbelief as his worst fears were confirmed. _"It ate the babysitter!" _He hissed under his breath.

"I'd feel better if you doubled up in one of our rooms, at least until we know what's causing the problem," Fayt said earnestly. Suddenly, he paused. Cliff's face had turned a whiter shade of pale, thus proving that such complexions aren't just the stuff of classic old songs from the 1960s. "Are you alright? If the wound's too painful I can cast some more-"

"Never felt better! Don't believe me? Then look at this!" Cliff said jubilantly, vaulting off the sofa and executing an impromptu Irish step dance on the top of the coffee table, before sheepishly accepting a court summons from Michael Flatley for having desecrated the memory of his '_Lord of the Dance'_ shows. After tucking the legal document into his pocket, Cliff quickly leapt down to the floor and scuttled for the lobby exit.

"H-hey! Where are you going? That wound's still fresh!" Fayt called after him, completely bamboozled by his friend's zany behaviour.

"_Cake hunting!_ Gotta go! See you later!" Cliff waved cheerily, turned tail and charged into the depths of the inn after that very enigmatic remark, leaving nothing but a Cliff-shaped dust cloud for Fayt to inhale and cough at.

"I guess he's gotten hungry…" Fayt shrugged, scratching his bright blue head in thought before he sank back into the soft sanctuary of the armchair. He stretched his legs out in front of him in an effort to relax, but his thoughts were still going a mile per minute since Cliff hadn't stuck around long enough for Fayt to get some bothersome things off his chest.

"Everyone sure seems to be acting weird lately…" Fayt sighed to himself, thinking back on all of the unusual things he'd heard and witnessed in the past week or so – of course, most of them involving a certain swordsman with a grumpy view of the world, which made things even weirder. Fayt scrunched himself deeper into the cushions. When he'd confessed to Cliff that he'd been worried, the mystery of the hotel staff disappearances wasn't the only thing that had been weighing on his mind…

_Why is Albel acting so strange lately? I hope it doesn't have anything to do with something I've done or said. He's even stopped calling me a 'maggot'… _Fayt reflected sadly, even though _not _being called a 'maggot' was usually something which called for celebration. Speaking of Albel, Fayt glanced at his wristwatch, noting that the evening wasn't getting any younger and the sunlight beyond the window was growing weaker with each passing tick. Surely Albel wasn't still searching for a replacement sword?

_I wonder if he's sick. Maybe someone spiked the water supply. Or is there some undisclosed side effect to one's mental health from too much contact with the Crimson Scourge? After all, Albel's been acting nicer ever since he _got _that sword. Then again, it could simply be a really good influence. Or maybe they just switched personalities. NOT that it'd be good thing to have a homicidal magic sword on the loose, of course… _

Like the science major student he was, Fayt concentrated hard and mulled over a range of possible theories to explain Albel's eccentric behaviour. Alas – in the end, Fayt could only come up with as many plausible answers as he'd had to start off with, which was a big fat zero. The bare fact of the matter was that intelligent as Fayt was, there were times when his brain was so dense that it would probably sink and drown in water. Hence "love sickness" never crossed his mind once, but it was an understandable omission. After all, this was _Albel the Wicked _he was pondering over. Associating Albel with lovey dovey emotions would probably eventuate only after a massive night out involving banned substances, and even then, the thought was _still_ unlikely to cross the mind of a stoned individual irregardless of how many bongs they'd smoked.

Fayt stood up at last and yawned after he came to a mental roadblock, stretching his slender arms luxuriously above his head. The sky outside had taken on the type of dark violet hue which precedes sunset and Fayt instinctively snapped on the closest lamp, bathing the lobby with a comforting golden glow.

_I think I'll take a nap before dinner. Albel should be back by the time I wake up, and I can thank him properly then. I didn't do a very good job of it today. _Fayt rubbed sleepily at his eyes with one knuckle while he busied himself with drawing the lobby curtains. Before he let the drapes fall free, Fayt peeked through the polished glass at the outside street where one of the council servants was just starting to light the street lamps with a long flaming taper. Traffic on the street had diminished considerably, with only a handful of market vendors bustling along the roadside packing up their stalls. Despite glancing this way and that, Fayt could catch no familiar sight of a purple-skirted swordsman marching authoritatively up the street with magic sword hopping in tow. As Fayt peeled his nose away from the glass and tucked the curtains in place, he couldn't help but feel so suddenly… _disappointed._

He laughed a little to himself, shuffling away from the window back to the warmth of his chair. _I feel like a wife waiting for her husband to come home… _Fayt snuck a look at the front door to the inn, half expecting Albel to burst through in Fred Flintstone fashion complete with the same tatty orange animal skin and briefcase made of rock. _Okay. Now I DEFINITELY know I need some sleep! _

With rumours of a monster on the loose, there was no way in hell Fayt was going to risk becoming juicy, meaty chum by napping in his room – the lobby was quiet enough anyway since most of the inn staff had taken up new careers in monster digestion. Fayt curled into the base of his armchair after calling out a good night to Cliff, who he had just spied crawling into the inn foyer beyond the lobby entrance. In his drowsy state of mind, Fayt figured that he hadn't _really _just seen Cliff prowling along the wall decked out in commando gear armed with night vision goggles and a massive fishing net. As he snuggled up to a squishy cushion and allowed his eyes to flutter shut, Fayt made a mental note to joke with Cliff about the freaky hallucination later at dinner…

-----------------------------------------

Meanwhile on the other side of town and halfway across the Greeton border, Albel leaned back heavily against his bench, scrabbling at his bloodshot eyes in an effort to stimulate his retinas back into a state of wakefulness. His senses weren't accustomed to the overload of electric lights flashing all over the racing circuit, and a less staunch individual would surely have succumbed to the type of famous mouth-foaming effects which only Japanese pocket monster TV shows can produce. Luckily, Albel was made of steelier stuff than most people, but even the big, muscly balls of brass which were his butt cheeks were aching from too much contact with hard, solid wood. And believe you me – that was something which Albel _never_ thought he'd actually admit to getting too much of in this lifetime!

A nudge in his foot brought Albel back into reality and he straightened, thinking that the Crimson Scourge had finally returned from the prize booth. It was thus with intense annoyance that Albel realised it was only a janitor Nobleman armed with a dustpan, sweeping up the remains of the hundred or so tickets which Albel had shredded, stomped on and Dragon Roar'd in the past two hours. The Nobleman obviously possessed the mentality of a lemming since it was displaying an incapability of manoeuvring around Albel's legs. Instead, it was nudging incessantly at the purple limbs in an attempt to burrow under to reach the ticket shreds on the other side and this was bad for several reasons – the most important reason being of course, that Albel's legs were regarded as sacrosanct and worshipped as a deity in several fangirl sects. Albel's feet were pretty flash too, which he demonstrated by punting the offending Nobleman with enough force to score a goal at fifty metres.

_ >>Yoohoo! I'm back!>> _The Crimson Scourge's mind voice piped up cheerfully in Albel's head as it bounced its way into Albel's booth. Boyd the bunnified inventor was hopping behind it like a furry pink consort, and slung around the man's neck was a tiny plastic bag wound up with cord.

"Well? What did we win?" Albel asked almost excitedly, before remembering he was supposed to be the stoic, moody one of the party who never got excited about anything unless it involved naked Fayt, killing big live things or… well, naked Fayt.

Like a born entertainer, the Crimson Scourge let the dramatic tension build for a few moments before deftly slicing the bag from Boyd's neck.

_ >>TA DA!>> _The Crimson Scourge announced with a flourish, and flipped the bag's entire contents into Albel's outstretched hand. Albel peered closely at the single black object resting on his palm, but bringing his face nearer wasn't assisting him in identifying it at all. The only thing he knew for sure was that it _wasn't_ anything which resembled the Bent Mystic Blade, which meant that it wasn't the prize he'd been hoping for. Albel's trademarked frown reappeared as a reflection of his disappointment.

"It's not the Blade, so what is it?" he said sharply.

_ >>A moustache comb!>> _The Crimson Scourge replied enthusiastically.

Albel's eyes fairly bulged out of his face. "That… that's IT?"

_ >>Well, that's what you got on YOUR ticket. I got something on mine too.>> _The Crimson Scourge said proudly.

Albel already knew that he wasn't going to like the answer but felt compelled to get one anyway, albeit very tiredly. "What did you win?" he muttered.

In response, the Crimson Scourge turned its blade on Albel as it hurriedly attached something to the front of itself. When it swung back to face Albel, a pair of symmetrical thatches of fake black hair were now stuck to either side of its golden hilt.

_ >>Fake moustache! Want to comb it?>> _The Crimson Scourge offered.

The expression on Albel's face at that remark was so flat that it looked positively ironed on. Rather than needlessly straining his vocal cords with an oral reply, Albel opted for transferring the comb into the palm of his gauntlet and displaying a rarely seen battle skill which would rival the jaw crushing power of most sharks.

_ >>Hmm. Forget I asked.>> _The Crimson Scourge laughed nervously as Albel opened his clawed fist and released a fine pile of black comb powder into the four winds. Dusting off his hand and gauntlet, Albel breezed past the Crimson Scourge and Boyd towards the boundary of the circuit overlooking the track, obviously intent on doing a spot of venting. The slight draft his skirt kicked up unhinged the Crimson Scourge's stuck-on moustache, giving the sword a distinctive Salvador Dali appearance as it hastily hopped after its master to do a bit of Albel-defusing. By the time it hopped down all of the stairs leading to the bottom of the circuit, Albel had already converted two VIP stalls into woodchips and was busy getting his claws stuck into a third despite the best efforts of ten Noblemen to tug him away via his hair tails.

_ >>Stop that!>> _The Crimson Scourge barked, flipping itself vertically to intercept the swipe of Albel's killer claws with the edge of its blade. The recoil which shot up his gauntlet forced Albel back a couple of steps, but his temper still refused to be checked even in the face of the Crimson Scourge's authority. All of the pent-up frustration from the past two hours of fruitless gambling felt like a burning ball of heat, simmering away at the back of his throat and threatening to spill out of his mouth like dragon fire. "Get out of my way!"

_ >>Cool it, oh Wicked One. Normally I wouldn't care about your random acts of vandalism, but you seem to be forgetting that you're no longer in a position to FINANCE that sort of luxury!>> _The Crimson Scourge said.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Albel demanded, his voice low but still ferocious.

_ >>Exactly what it sounds like. You're almost flat broke.>> _The Crimson Scourge snorted. _ >>The math is quite simple, really. Two hundred tickets, plus those jumbo organic tacos I insisted you consume since you're practically a human stick, plus the heavy duty leash you had to purchase to stop Boyd from humping shiny inanimate objects and legs encased in glittery stockings, roughly amounts to->> _

"I'm fully capable of counting!" Albel interrupted snippily before the Crimson Scourge could voice that awful grand tally which made the anime sweat break out behind his ears.

_ >>Are you sure you added it up right? There WERE an awful lot of numbers, you know. The amount I got in the end was->> _

"Good gods, will you just shut UP?" Albel half groaned and half snarled through clenched teeth, leaning heavily on the wooden barrier enclosing the race track so that he could palm his face more effectively. The Crimson Scourge was terribly insufferable at times due to its tendency to tactlessly run off at the mouth, which was truly ironic for something which didn't even _have_ a mouth to speak of. Not for the first time since the Crimson Scourge had chosen him, Albel questioned the wisdom of bonding himself to a sword which had only become more opinionated on every topic and issue under the Elicoorian sky as each of its ten thousand years of existence had passed. After all, the poor boy had just wanted a damn weapon, not a portable current affairs program.

_ >>What a silly request! Of course I won't shut up.>> _The Crimson Scourge said sweetly. Albel made a mental note to hunt down the grave of the smith who had forged the Crimson Scourge. That way, he could spit on the man's tomb for making the stupid decision of infusing the sword with pesky free will. _ >>Well… not unless you grow a little bit of sense, that is.>> _

"I can't believe you're still waiting for me to admit this was a waste of time!" Albel snapped, reading between the lines and picking up on the insinuation behind the Crimson Scourge's words. "Besides, since when have I _ever_ admitted you were right about anything? Don't get your hopes up for something which won't happen, you stupid stick."

_ >>Tsk. Stubborn.>> _The Crimson Scourge sniffed, half to itself. _ >>You know, it'd do you a world of good to be able to concede defeat every now and then. I know you're licked, you know you're licked, so why get your thong in a twist by heading down a very loud and unnecessary path of denial? You're just going to give yourself an ulcer, or… or…a nasty case of irritable bowel syndrome like we saw in that fascinating program on that box with moving pictures, _"When Surgery Goes Wrong!"_ Bunnies simply aren't worth the health of your colon walls, oh Wicked One!>> _

The Crimson Scourge was already bracing itself for a verbal gutting before it finished its last sentence so it was surprising that the anticipated outburst of temper never came. The Crimson Scourge double-checked to make sure Albel hadn't keeled over dead while it was speaking, and was greeted instead with an almost thoughtful expression gracing the swordsman's face.

_ >>Oh good! I knew you'd never risk the well-being of your rectum.>> _The Crimson Scourge beamed, thinking that its advice was being properly digested.

"You asked earlier whether this was all worth it," Albel said, ignoring the Crimson Scourge's "potty" talk. "Or don't you remember?"

_ >>Of course I remember!>> _The Crimson Scourge said huffily, sensing that Albel was inadvertently insulting its fantastic photographic memory. _ >>Last chapter, 15 paragraphs in, so what?>> _

Albel turned his face away towards the race track, and the floodlights surrounding the circuit illuminated a single frown line which was indenting the skin between his eyes. "I gave my reasons then, and they still stand – _Fayt _is worth it, not those rabbits, not Boyd, not these damn tickets!" He kicked angrily at a pile of torn stubs which the Nobleman from before was busy sweeping up, going a lot more slowly now that it was sporting a blotchy bruise on its portly ass where Albel's steel-toed shoe had solidly connected.

"I wouldn't be wasting my time on such frivolities if it wasn't worth it!" Albel continued, his voice hardening with each spoken word. "Which means I'll do whatever it takes-"

_ >>… to do WHAT?>> _The Crimson Scourge cut him short with much exasperation, feeling some of its own patience slip and give way to more testy emotions. _ >>To spend a small fortune on winning some magic blade? To heal that moronic bunnified man just so that he can forge you a sword? What's it all got to do with winning the heart of the young one, if the original aim was to just get a sword and be done with it?>> _

"Because the sword has to be _the best_!" Albel shot back acidly.

_ >>And that's been the problem all along, you nitwit.>> _The Crimson Scourge evidently hadn't bothered switching on its tact buttons, and instead had cranked up its scorn meter into the red range. _ >>You've been so caught up all day with trying to find some out-of-this world blade, that you never even considered the VERY strong possibility that the young one would be grateful for anything that he receives, as long as it comes from you!>> _

"What sentimental _garbage_. I can't believe you subscribe to that tripe about the thought being more valuable than the gift," Albel immediately sneered with a dismissive wave of his claws. His eyes narrowed dangerously upon the Crimson Scourge, as though berating it for even daring to follow that train of thought. "Fayt's no fool, so stop thinking of him as such. Only maggots would fall for the drivel that you just spouted!"

_ >>Don't be so quick to discount the importance of good intentions, oh Wicked One. Even a gift of the finest blade in the world is made redundant if one's motivations for giving it are anything but noble. Not that I'm saying your motivations are bad…>> _The Crimson Scourge hastened to say before could Albel yell blue murder, _ >>… but in the event of your bank balance crashing and burning, I want you to know in advance that there's no shame in settling on something which doesn't equate to being "the best". Whether you set your expectations high or low, the underlying thought remains – to make the young one happy!>> _

"Hmph! It's pointless anyway to keep babbling about such nonsense," Albel scoffed, throwing some of his characteristic confidence in the Crimson Scourge's face even as it earnestly argued its case. "You've obviously forgotten that we have a master smith at our disposal. That dispenses with the need to buy an inferior sword, so settling for second-best isn't even an option."

_ >>Is that so?>> _The Crimson Scourge sang, which was a subtle indication that it was moving in for the kill, but Albel had already been hooked by its verbal bait.

"As a matter of fact, it is!" he snarled. "Why? Do you dare tell me otherwise?"

_ >>Well… it's just that…>> _The Crimson Scourge began slowly and deliberately.

"What? _What_?" Albel said impatiently.

_ >>… it's hard to utilise something which isn't even there, don't you think?>> _The Crimson Scourge finished with a little snigger.

Albel was about to blow his top at the sword for being so aggravatingly vague, but then he suddenly realised what it was getting at. There was no sign of Boyd or his bunny suit as far as the eye could see – the inventor had simply upped and vanished, possibly bored now that the novelty of watching Albel argue with a magic sword had lost its appeal due to the frequency at which it occurred. As the discovery dawned on him, Albel proceeded to swear in four different languages and five tribal dialects, earning himself many an affronted glare from mothers passing by with their impressionable children. There was just no mistaking a swear word even in a foreign tongue so long as it was uttered with whole new worlds of pissiness, and Albel currently had plenty of that spewing out of his ears.

_ >>So much for all that, but good riddance!>> _The Crimson Scourge chirped, and Albel could've throttled it for sounding so disgustingly upbeat. _ >>Let's get on with more pressing business then, shall we? If we hurry we can still make it for the late night markets and->> _

"In there!" Albel commanded with finality, his arm pointing dead ahead like the hand of a compass. The Crimson Scourge paused in its prattling to turn around, and baulked when it realised Albel's perfectly horizontal index finger was aligned with the building they'd been expressly forbidden from entering. The door labelled "Top Secret", previously firmly closed, was now visibly ajar.

_ >>In there? But… but it says "Top Secret"!>> _The Crimson Scourge objected.

"Bah. As if I'd let something like that stop _me_," Albel said with a disbelieving roll of his eyes. "That door wasn't open before, so there's a good chance Boyd went inside!"

As if waiting for their cue, the Oompa Loompa Noblemen troupe danced on by, kicking up their heels in a jagged conga line.

"Oompa Loompa, Dinkity Dupid! Looking in there would be really stupid!" They warbled.

"Go on, move it!" Albel said, ignoring the Noblemen as best as he could while he shoved the Crimson Scourge ahead of him with the toe of his shoe. The sword spluttered indignantly as it was herded along like a stubborn Lum, but Albel's foot was relentless when it came to pushing power. Meanwhile, the Noblemen looked on stricken as Albel and the Crimson Scourge approached the door, hurrying after them as fast as their plump little legs could carry them.

"Oompa Loompa, dinkity-"

"Was anyone particularly _cruel_ to you maggots when you were young?" Albel suddenly enquired with sinister sweetness, pausing in mid-stride to throw the question at the Noblemen entourage.

They all blinked in unison before engaging in a quick whispered conference among themselves in a tight huddle of orange skin and green hair. Finally, the ring leader popped his head out from among his team mates with the verdict. "No sir! Not as far as we can remember sir!"

At full height Albel was quite the imposing figure… but up _close_ he could look positively fearsome, as each Nobleman quickly discovered when the Airyglyphian captain leaned forward and passed a chilly gaze over them which was quite capable of freezing an ocean into a whole new arctic shelf. The Noblemen shrank back after shooing away some penguins which had taken a liking to the wintry atmosphere.

"_It's not too late,"_ Albel delivered the punch line with a deadly hiss, flexing the steel talons fixed to the end of his gauntlet in such a way so as to set their outlines afire against the brilliant white glare of the circuit spotlights. The sight of all that gleaming cold metal sharpened to slice-and-dice perfection was more than enough to unman even the most manliest man on the distant Federation world known as Planet Man (undeveloped of course), and since the man known as the Nobleman is considerably _less_ manly than the average Planet Man man by a good couple of inches in height (and probably length as well), it was only a natural decision for the Noblemen to start rapidly putting some distance between themselves and Albel. He had to at least give them partial credit for speed – he'd never have guessed that panicky Noblemen were quite capable of moving faster than cats which had just discovered burs in their sandboxes.

_ >>Ever the "People's Princess", aren't you? I guess some of the young one's happy-go-lucky charm is still yet to rub off.>> _The Crimson Scourge observed wryly as the Noblemen were swallowed up by the hills in the distance. At the sound of its mental voice, Albel swivelled around to fix the sword with a truly poisonous look, and it started backing up uncertainly due to the ominous glint in its master's eyes. _ >>Hey! Why are you looking at me like that?>> _

"Because you're still here, when you should be in _there_!" Albel said grimly, rearing back and giving the Crimson Scourge a good solid boot into the darkness behind the top secret door. As soon as he heard it clattering satisfyingly across the ground somewhere up ahead, Albel pushed against the heavy door and let himself in using the conventional method.

The Crimson Scourge had started to yowl its displeasure very loudly, but its complaint morphed into a squeak of alarm when the door unexpectedly slammed shut behind Albel just as he crossed the threshold. The hustle and bustle of the races was immediately muffled, and Albel and the Crimson Scourge suddenly found themselves plunged in an uncomfortable combination of darkness and silence.

_ >>Are you CRAZY? Why did you close the door? Open it this instance!>> _The Crimson Scourge ordered bossily, noting how the absence of visibility was severely hampering the use of verbs in the current section of the story, but thank goodness for trusty old adjectives.

(Rattle rattle) "I can't. The stupid thing is locked." (BANG)

_ >>Well that's just fugding great. We're trapped! Doomed to fade away like rats drowned in a public privy!>> _(Tap tap tap).

"Stop overreacting! Where are you? I can't see a thing in … OW! Shit!" (Tap tap STAB).

_ >>Oh, sorry. Was that your foot?>> _(Snigger)

"Get _over _here!" (Fumble, grapple, grope)

_ >>Stop that! What do you think you're doing?>> _(Flail)

"Shut up. I need to pick the lock with something pointy, don't I?" (Pick pick pick pick pick)

_ >>Brute! Barbarian! The Crimson Scourge is no primitive bobby pin! UNHAND me!>> _(Wriggle jiggle miggle yiggle… substitute entire alphabet as is fitting)

**FWASH! **

The stimulating argument may have gone on for as long as Albel and the Crimson Scourge had the breath and chapter space to spare, but a brilliant ray of light suddenly intervened before their antics could descend into the realm of fisticuffs. The beam sliced through the darkness as easily as an oiled blade, tracing a meandering path across glossy floor tiles before concentrating itself as a single pool of white light around Albel. He instinctively froze in his struggling with the Crimson Scourge as he was snared by the tear-inducing brightness of the spotlight. Equally startled was the Crimson Scourge. It was even compelled to pause in its act of capturing Albel in a mighty headlock.

Beyond the beam of light, the shimmering outlines of seven monolithic blocks rose out of the darkness, each one inset with a coloured panel. Albel swivelled his head to look suspiciously at each one in turn. The only things distinguishing the blocks from each other were painted numbers from one to seven, and the panels which pulsed with lights in the seven colours of the rainbow. In terms of identification, all of the monoliths featured the nonsensical words "BUNNY SEELE" inscribed in their faces of stone.

"WHO ARE YOU? STATE YOUR PURPOSE, NON-BUNNY AND NON-BUNNY'S BUTTER KNIFE."

The big booming voice which projected out from monolith #1 at several hundred decibels made Albel jump, but the Crimson Scourge had no ear drums, so its reaction was nothing but 100 percent pure indignation. _ >>Did that ugly slab of rock just liken me to a kitchen utensil?>> _

"If you heard correctly, why are you bothering to ask me?" Albel said witheringly over his shoulder. He left the Crimson Scourge to attain full boil at the remark in its own time, turning his face towards the front again and crossing his arms as he addressed the weird monoliths.

"I'm Albel Nox," he said loudly and boldly. "I'm here to heal the inventor Boyd. If you worms don't want to give him up, I'll cut you down where you stand and take him back myself!"

Monolith #2 guffawed. "YOU, A NON-BUNNY, WISH TO SULLY THE PRIMARY KEY TO THE TRIUMPH OF THE BUNNIFICATION INSTRUMENTALITY PROJECT WITH YOUR IMPURE NON-BUNNY IDEALS?"

"Eh?" Albel and the Crimson Scourge uttered blankly.

"THE COMMITTEE OF BUNNY SEELE – FORERUNNERS OF THE PUSH FOR THE REVIVAL OF RABBIT HEGEMONY ACROSS THE KNOWN GALAXY THROUGH OUR INSIDIOUS AND COMPLICATED MASTER PLAN DESERVING OF ENSHRINEMENT IN AT LEAST TWO ANIME MOVIE SCRIPTS – LAUGHS AT YOUR AUDACITY. DON'T WE, BOYS?"

"HO HO HO HO HO HO HO!" All seven monoliths chortled in confirmation.

_ >>If you ask me… they're all several boulders short of a full rock quarry.>> _The Crimson Scourge hissed in Albel's head. He knew he'd promised himself to never agree with the sword on anything under penalty of death, but it was _really _taking all of his willpower to not break that promise right now, even when confronted with laughing blocks of rock which seemed to have a weird fetish for things that had four legs and hopped.

"I couldn't care less about who you are or what your role in life is. In my opinion, you're all a bunch of stupid maggots anyway, which means you're simply not worth my time," Albel rejoined matter-of-factly. "My business is with Boyd. Hand him over now, and I just might spare you a slow and gory death!"

"COCKY LITTLE NON-BUNNY. WHO DIED AND MADE YOU BOSS?" Monolith #3 sneered.

"My father actually, not that it's any of your business," Albel snapped.

"IT WAS JUST A FIGURE OF SPEECH, YOU MORON. WE HAVE ZERO INTEREST IN YOUR EMO LIFE STORY."

_ >>Phoaaaar! Pretty bitchy for a couple of rocks, aren't they?>> _The Crimson Scourge snorted in disbelief, even though it was secretly enjoying the show.

"BUT SUCH IMPUDENCE IS TO BE EXPECTED FROM AN ORGANISM WHICH HAS BECOME IMPURE THROUGH THE STAIN OF NATURAL EVOLUTION," Monolith #4 boomed in a somewhat reasonable tone of voice.

"TRUE," Monolith #5 agreed. "MAN DID ORIGINALLY COME FROM THE BUNNY, AND SO WAS ONCE PURE."

"BUT I THOUGHT MAN EVOLVED FROM FISH," Monolith #6 protested, sounding confused. "AT LEAST, THAT'S WHAT I LEARNT IN SCHOOL."

"YOU ARE SUCH A WANKER NUMBER 6," Monolith #7 scolded.

"WITH EVOLUTION AND THE PASSING OF TIME, MAN HAS FORGOTTEN FROM WHENCE HE CAME," monolith #1 continued, ignoring the brief altercation. "HE EXPLOITS HIS ORIGINAL ROOTS, SHACKLING THE BUNNY TO NONSENSICAL RACING MINI GAMES FOR MONETARY GAIN AND FOR THE PURPOSE OF FRUSTRATING MILLIONS OF GAMERS WHO CANNOT POSSIBLY ACCUMULATE ENOUGH POINTS TO WIN NON-CRAPPY PRIZES WITHOUT THE HELP OF A TURBO CONTROLLER."

"BUNNY SEELE WILL TOLERATE BUNNY SERVITUDE NO LONGER!" Monolith #2 roared.

"I don't know about you but I've no idea where this is going," Albel hissed discreetly at the Crimson Scourge behind one hand as the monoliths continued to speak. "They're evidently all completely insane."

_ >>… or just lacking fibre in their diets.>> _The Crimson Scourge snickered.

Meanwhile, the monoliths were still obliviously chatting away among themselves. "WE SHOULD LIVE IN A NEW AND DIFFERENT WORLD. THAT IS THE REASON FOR THE BUNNIFICATION INSTRUMENTALITY PROJECT."

"YES, NUMBER 3. BUT WE MUST REMEMBER THAT IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO ALTER HUMAN FORM TO BOARD THE ARK WHICH IS BUNNIFICATION," said monolith #4.

"IT IS JUST A FORMALITY. THIS IS FOR THE REBIRTH OF THE LAST STAGE OF MANKIND," said monolith #5.

"WE CAN'T EVEN ESTIMATE HOW MUCH MONEY AND TIME HAS BEEN LOST TRYING TO REACH THIS STAGE," monolith #6 whined.

"WANKER. IT'S NOT OUR FAULT YOU WENT OFF AND PLACED BETS. WE TOLD YOU LOUD AND CLEAR THAT THE RACES WERE RIGGED FOR THE PURPOSE OF ATTRACTING THE BUNNIFIED ONE WITH THE CROWD," monolith #7 said scathingly.

Albel's bored expression was suddenly wiped off his face at that revelation, and was replaced with a look that was 1 percent shock and 99 percent rage. "_Rigged_?" he spluttered, his red eyes growing wide and wild. "You maggots made it so that it was impossible to win?"

_ >>I could've told you that for free. Wait. Actually, I did. Fifty seven FREAKING times, to be precise.>> _The Crimson Scourge said sarcastically.

"OF COURSE IT WAS ALL RIGGED. WHY WOULD BUNNY SEELE ALLOW LOWLY NON-BUNNIES TO PROFIT FROM THE STRENUOUS RACING EFFORTS OF OUR BUNNY BRETHREN? WHAT AN ABSURD NOTION!" Monolith #1 said with heavy contempt.

Albel looked as though he were struggling for a few seconds, engaged in an inner debate with himself as to what sort of derogatory word would best describe the members of Bunny Seele. But since he wasn't particularly fond of long periods of thinking, Albel quickly settled on something which was universal.

"You **_BASTARDS_**! You took my money!" Albel yelled, his face almost turning as purple as his attire in his mounting fury. He would've lunged then and there to take a chunk out of the nearest monolith if the Crimson Scourge hadn't stabbed itself through the hem of his skirt, anchoring him down. Albel's feet scrabbled uselessly before he realised he wasn't actually moving anywhere, not to mention he must've looked like a real idiot running so hard in the same spot that he'd almost dug a trench.

_ >>No fast moves, oh Wicked One! Something's happening!>> _The Crimson Scourge said urgently, and sure enough a change had come over the monoliths, as well as to the once stifling ambience of the room. The rainbow coloured panels affixed to the top of the monoliths flared even brighter, and an ominous shudder through the floor tiles made the ground vibrate gently under Albel's feet. If the walls were visible, then no doubt he'd have been able to see them trembling.

"WE HAVE WAITED LONG FOR THIS MOMENT. THIS DAY MAY HAVE COME SOONER, BUT WE FAILED TO PUT A BELL AROUND BOYD'S NECK," monolith #2 intoned in a trance-like voice.

"A BELL WAS THERE BUT IT DIDN'T RING," monolith #3 chipped in.

"A BELL THAT DOES NOT RING HAS NO PURPOSE. WE'LL MAKE SURE THE BELL RINGS NEXT TIME," monolith #4 said.

"ACTUALLY IT WAS NOT A BELL. IT WAS ONE OF THOSE AMUSING HAMSTER BALLS WHICH ARE SOLD IN THE SAME SECTION OF WAL-MART. SORRY. IT LOOKED LIKE A BELL WHEN I BOUGHT IT," monolith #5 confessed.

"HA. WHO'S THE WANKER NOW," monolith #6 jeered.

"THE PROMISED TIME IS AT HAND. AT LONG LAST OUR HOPES ARE TO BE REALISED!" Monolith #7 thundered.

"YES. THE ONE KNOWN AS BOYD HAS RETURNED TO MANKIND'S ORIGINAL STATE. HIS SOUL IS ONE WITH BUNNIES. AS SUCH, HE IS THE CHOSEN VESSEL FOR BUNNIFICATION INSTRUMENTALITY," monolith #1 said.

"NOW THAT HE HAS RETURNED TO US, LET ALL SOULS FIND PEACE. LET THE SACRAMENT BEGIN!" Monolith #2 said with finality.

The entire room, including the floor, seemed to jerk violently with that declaration. Unprepared for the rolling motion of the floor, Albel's sense of balance mutinied and he felt himself being thrown backwards against the steel door behind him which was still firmly locked. The Crimson Scourge fared a bit better by driving its point into a crack between two floor tiles, doing its best to remain upright even as gravity tried telling it otherwise. However the vibrations running through the floor were no longer gentle, and had upgraded into stronger tremours which were tipping both Albel and the Crimson Scourge from side to side.

_ >>Help! What's happening?>> _The Crimson Scourge wailed as it felt itself lose its hold in the crack. Albel launched himself off the wall and snatched the sword before it could be hurtled beyond the spotlight into whatever lurked within the darkness. Lowering his centre of gravity to combat the squirmy ground he was standing on, Albel looked on warily as the monoliths flared with coloured light from head to foot, now chanting together in deep and solemn monotone.

"RETURN HUMANKIND TO ITS RIGHTFUL FORM. BUNNIFY HUMANKIND AND RESTORE US TO OUR TRUE FORM. WITH INDISCRIMINATE DEATH AND PRAYERS, WE RETURN TO OUR ORIGINAL STATE!"

"What the hell is all this _garbage_?" Albel angrily blurted out to no one in particular, since it wasn't like he was expecting a reply. A loud clap of what may have been thunder resounded through the room, and someone must have turned on a wind machine because a whirling gust suddenly started howling within the enclosure of the building. The SFX department was certainly outdoing itself to the point of going over budget.

"THE MOMENT OF THE THIRD RETRIBUTION HAS COME!"

_ >>Oooh, that doesn't sound good…>> _The Crimson Scourge cringed.

"THE BEGINNING AND THE END ARE AS ONE. EVERYTHING IS AS IT SHOULD BE!"

The wind picked up by a couple of notches, and glowing cracks in the floor started blossoming outward from a concentrated point at the far end of the room. The rumbling was getting louder and louder, so loud that Albel could feel all of his innards jumping around in reaction to the sound shockwaves and so loud that the Crimson Scourge's hilt was chattering non-stop against the top of its blade. The monoliths were now backlit in silhouette against a ball of light emerging from the centre of the floor cracks, and they expelled their final words of impending doom just as the roar of the wind and the earth reached an ear-busting climax.

"BOYD, BUNNY-TURNED INVENTOR OF HUMANKIND… COMPLEMENT HUMANKIND WITH YOUR IMPERFECT EGO!"

**FWASH! **

The spotlight abruptly vanished and the multi-coloured panels of the monoliths blinked out one by one, as though the earth's rumbling had severed the building's power supply. It didn't really matter much, since something so blindingly pink that it radiated its own light source, not to mention something incredibly _huge _was pushing its way out of the crevice in the ground at the back of the room. The floor tossed and heaved as it struggled to vomit out the enormous whatever-it-was, and Albel was snapped out of staring with morbid fascination at the emerging monstrosity by a slab of ceiling which suddenly plopped onto his head... followed by another less smaller slab, but still no less painful as it bounced off his skull. The roof was starting to cave in!

The Crimson Scourge ripped itself out of Albel's grasp and bounced frantically in front of the locked door. _ >>Hurry! Get this damn thing open! I'm too good looking to be buried alive!>> _

"Scared?" Albel enquired mockingly. The Crimson Scourge looked at its master in disbelief, appalled at the sight of an unmistakeable smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. _ >>Merely infused with survival instinct, something which YOU'RE evidently lacking! We have to get out!>> _

"What's the rush? Whatever's coming through looks like a worthy challenge. Let's cut it down, and spite those Seele _scum_!" Albel suggested with a maniacal grin, snatching up the Crimson Scourge despite its very loud protests.

_ >>"Albel the Wicked" my ass. Albel the BLOCKHEAD more like! Let go of me! I don't feel like playing hero!>> _The sword squirmed and struggled but Albel's hand was glued tightly around its hilt, plus it was pretty useless trying to reason with the man when he was hell bent on taking vengeance on a malevolent organisation which had just robbed him out of his retirement fund, so the Crimson Scourge finally gave up. It felt no less apprehensive about what was happening though, especially when something which looked suspiciously like the tips of two giant pink ears suddenly erupted from the hole in the ground. At first the ears were as tall as Albel at full height, but they kept climbing… and climbing… until the entire length of each appendage was crushed against the wobbling ceiling, sending another shower of plaster raining upon Albel and the Crimson Scourge. As for what the ears were actually _attached _to… well…

"It's… it's…" Albel started to say, but trailed off as he realised he didn't know what "it" was, and didn't feel like burning up the necessary brain cells to elaborate further.

_ >>It's… it's…>> _The Crimson Scourge also ventured, digging deep in its word hoard for something which could round up its observation most accurately. The words "monstrous", "hideous" and "gruesome" flashed through its consciousness but it spooled through them, knowing that such words weren't appropriate. It also skipped over "an ink blot on nature" and "so butt ugly that it must be the love child of a Matamata turtle and a monkfish", which meant that there was only one conclusion left to be made.

_ >>It's… pretty cute actually!>> _The Crimson Scourge exclaimed as an enormous bunny face slowly rose out of the crevice with moist black nose twitching and its thatch of whiskers atremble. Its pair of glistening eyes shone like dewdrops, each eyeball twice the size of Albel's head and framed with soft dark lashes as long as his arm. Its pink fur swished luxuriously with every slight movement and it violently reared back, seemingly breaking free of the last of its bonds which were still anchoring it beneath the crust of the earth. As though confirming this, a paw the size of a luxury liner rose out of the hole and slammed heavily upon the floor, instantly shattering several hundred tiles and sending Albel and the Crimson Scourge literally flying straight through the steel door behind them. The crowd that was still milling about the racing circuit shrieked in alarm as the purple clad swordsman and his sidekick sword barrelled past them like speeding bullets, leaving a smoking Albel/Crimson Scourge-shaped hole in their wake.

"That was… hardly promising…" Albel muttered groggily, slowly picking himself up from the remains of a hot dog booth which he and the Crimson Scourge had instantly demolished when they'd been stopped by it in their mad flight. Every bone and muscle in his body hummed steadily with bruising pain, but he figured that he'd escaped in a better state than the Crimson Scourge which had landed hilt first in a tub of secret sauce which had been congealing (and possible evolving into a new life form) in the sun for the better part of the day.

_ >>To the deepest hells with this. We can't fight that thing!>> _The Crimson Scourge growled, shaking itself like a dog to free itself of the sticky strands of mayonnaise and other dubious substances which were clinging to its blade like cobwebs. _ >>YOU can stay here if you want, Mr big shot! I'M going back to the inn to get cleaned up. NEVER has the Crimson Scourge been subjected to such appalling, disrespectful treatment as it has been today, and you ought to be ASHAMED of yourself! What type of owner do you think you are? SOME master! Why I oughtta… uh-oh.>> _

Albel unplugged his ears when the Crimson Scourge suddenly stopped ranting, knowing from experience that something very, very, _very_ dire must've been approaching to cork up the Crimson Scourge when it was in full verbal swing. Sure enough, Albel turned on his heels to be met with the extremely discouraging sight of a pink bunny in the act of lolloping towards them. This wouldn't have been a problem if the bunny in question wasn't so big that it was positively gargantuan and tall enough to easily make a snack out of the clouds, not to mention it must have weighed as much as one of those little islands that sit in earth's Caribbean, which meant that any act of lolloping-towards was something that had to be taken _very_ seriously and with a considerable amount of freaking out. The crowd was already providing a lot in the way of freak out as men, women and children surged in a massive human swell towards the exits of the circuit, but the Crimson Scourge felt obliged to chip in with some of its own brand, which involved thwacking Albel in the buttock region in a bid to make him run.

"OW! Quit shoving!" Albel snapped, almost getting his ankles tangled as the Crimson Scourge started rapping at his heels in a panic. The situation was getting disorienting, what with the earth shuddering violently with each movement that the monster bunny made, the constant screeches of terror originating in all four directions, the mad dashes of the Greetonites desperate to save their own skin and the nagging thought in Albel's head that the bunny was in actual fact arms-master-extraordinaire _Boyd_. All of these factors were contributing to the slowness at which Albel was making himself beat a hasty retreat, but the last shreds of his hesitation evaporated when the bunny paused in mid-lollop and tipped its head back to the sky, throwing its mouth wide open and baring its creamy buck teeth to the moon.

"**SQUEAK!" **

Admittedly it wasn't the most fearsome of roars (especially since the bunny had sounded quite happy) but the sound had still originated in a set of lungs which would've put a whole orchestra of tubas to shame. The sound waves rippled outwards through the cool evening air, smashing their way through all things wooden, glass and plastic so that in a matter of seconds, all that one could see around the circuit was a rising cloud of splinters and shards. The ensuing tinnitus on Albel's ears, the storm of debris, and the sight of the massive silhouette of the bunny as it brushed off all the needle-like fragments as though they were harmless dust particles were finally enough – even Albel knew what his limit was, and when it was time to bail.

Going against all of the battle instincts which had been drilled into him as soon as he could hold a sword, Albel hitched the Crimson Scourge under his gauntlet, hitched his skirt with his other arm… and proceeded to run like _stink_.

-----------------------------------------

That's where I was forced to slice the chapter up, so more fun bunny antics await. :P The next chapter is half complete already since I made the decision to chop the content quite late, so hopefully there won't be a big gap between now and the next upload! As you can all probably tell, I despise the Bunny Race mini game immensely, though I think it's actually a VERY effective deterrent for gambling. XD Just curious – is there anyone reading this (besides MrsNox XD ) who actually managed to get the 100 points needed to hire Boyd? If there are, I'm pondering over whether to call you insane or bloody patient to a tee. XD

Next chapter: When there's a monster bunny on the loose, who're you going to call? (Er… no one actually, since Albel doesn't have a phone. Oo ) Fayt and the Crimson Scourge join forces, but will it be enough to rid Elicoor of its over-inflated rabbit problem? And will the author finally get off her ass and make Albel give Fayt a sword already? Xx Obviously the answer to those questions is "yes", since this fic has so got to get a move on already… XD


	10. Step 2: Give gifts to your lover pt 4

And so, one year later, I've popped up again like a bad smell. XD; Yes, it literally took a year to write this chapter, so bad was my writer's block and so preoccupied I've been with uni and art. Oo; But rest assured that I'll sooner spike myself with a spork then let this fic dwindle away, especially since I know exactly how I want it to end and I'm a'waiting for the day when I can finally let you all read what I'm seeing in my head in regard to that matter… :D So please bear with me just a little longer!

One of the other reasons why this chapter has been so delayed is that I was hell bent on wrapping up this mini bunny saga, even if it took me 16000 words to do so – however, I finally realised that chopping the chapter once again was the most logical thing to do rather than have you all wait another year, so er, here we are. -Sweatdrop- And I don't know why it is that I suddenly feel compelled to upload either art or fanfiction when I'm supposed to be working on assignments or studying for exams… DX

To those who know me from dA or y gal, I'm very sorry for not yet replying to your messages on those sites in a while, since I enforce self-imposed exile on myself in a bid to try and stay on track with uni (not working very well considering I'm uploading this Oo ) but I'll be sending messages your way after November 19 when I'll have finished my law degree forever and ever, and not a moment too soon! -Faints-

In the meantime, enjoy… and like before, you might want to reread the past one or two chapters to refresh your memory otherwise parts of this chapter might sound strange. XD

PS - having some weird formatting issues with the arrows I usually put around the Crimson Scourge's text. Using dashes from now on, at least until I can get the problem fixed. XP

--------------------------------------------------

**"STEP #2: Give gifts to your lover" (part 4 aka. I'd Fell Bunnies for You!):**

Fayt crept quietly through dense foliage growing low to the forest floor, barely cognizant of the feathery brush of what at first blush appeared to be ordinary leaves, but on closer inspection, were actually the crinkled edges of apple flavoured Jolly Ranchers™. Even if Fayt _had _been aware of them, he would've sniffed at them as small fry. No, the larger game lurked beyond the Twizzler™ trees, milling about beneath the KitKat™ canopy in all of their blissful, tooth-rotting existence… Kisses™, infused with _truffles_ of all things, encased by an impenetrable armour of fancy silver foil which cleverly concealed the hated cavity creatures which dwelled within… but not _entirely_ invulnerable to the multi-bristled assault of a brand spanking new Oral-B Pulsar™ toothbrush, which was currently being wielded by Fayt like a plastic equivalent of the famed Excalibur. Those sugary treats stood no chance against such decay-fighting technology, especially when double-teamed with the twelve hour protection infused within the tubes of Colgate Total™ strapped to Fayt's chest, but before the hunter could get within brushing range, a visible tremour ran through the herd of grazing chocolate treats.

_Found out! _Fayt thought in alarm, backing away as silently as he could even under the weight of his toothpaste armaments, but the bright blueness of his hair through the undergrowth was a dead giveaway. Blueberry flavour hadn't been slated for a public release due to its pukeworthy chemistry with cocoa, so it was pretty obvious that the blue-haired entity didn't belong in Candy Land. Amid a syrupy chorus of alarm came the ominous rumbling of milk chocolate hooves as the herd worked themselves into a stampeding frenzy… and it was getting louder… and _louder_… and LOUDER…

Fayt's eyelids shot open in alarm, his bright green eyes tracking since he was still half-expecting a Hershey™ hoof in the face, but his wits regrouped quickly when the familiar inn surrounds re-entered his state of awareness. Prising his groggy body off the leather of his armchair, Fayt fished around in his back pocket for his Communicator, acting on a sudden twinge of suspicion.

"Just as I thought," Fayt muttered as he navigated his fingers across the glowing LCD. "I set it to 'Subliminal Advertising'..."

That should've been the end of the matter, but for the _very_ real and _very_ loud tremours rocking the room which had yanked Fayt back into the world of wakefulness in the first place. And, since there wasn't a single anthropomorphic Hershey Kiss™ in sight ("Stop it! Stop it now!" Fayt growled, shaking his overly capitalistic Communicator to high heaven), whatever the true source was, it sounded bigger than any mutated dessert that a mere chocolate factory could churn out. If the sight of small pieces of unanchored furniture bouncing across the room wasn't an indication of _that_, the author would be guilty of insulting Fayt's reasonably large intellect. So, since watching an ottoman skipping without the use of strings for the rest of the evening held limited appeal, Fayt stood up unsteadily and made his way to the window as quickly as the shuddering floor allowed him.

Fayt peeked under the curtains. Then he stomped on his Communicator. Then he peered through the window again but to his surprise, the view hadn't changed at all. Surely the blasted gadget's mechanisms had scrambled, its internal wiring smushed by Elicoor's gravitational pull to the point where it was generating in its owner's brain a hallucinatory effect on par with the strength of mushroom juice? I mean, what _other _way was there to justify the ludicrous presence of a…

"… bunny," Fayt said flatly under his breath, his expression more deadpan than the time Sophia had asked him whether walls were made in Walmart. "It's a… _giant bunny_."

A giant bunny… on the _rampage_ that is, and even as Fayt looked on in disbelief, the peaked roof of the grocer store three streets down was instantaneously kicked to bits by the bunny's wrecking-ball of a foot. The part of Peterny in the bunny's wake was hardly looking its best either, unless in the brief time Fayt had been napping, it had suddenly become fashionable on Elicoor for merchants to start a running trade in rubble. Fayt would've liked to continue his gobsmacked gaping for just a little longer, but the next descent of the bunny's foot sent a tremour his way which effectively totalled the window pane, leaving nothing left to look out from. Fayt daintily removed his sandalled feet from under the crushed glass, but stepped back a little more quickly when the rest of the wall prostrated itself before him with a mighty "BOOM", leaving an unsightly looking hole in the front of the lobby. Fayt looked around guiltily even though there wasn't a single employee in sight to add "Structure Damage" to his bill, which was already charging him both kidneys on account of a bag of Doritos™ he'd snuck out of the mini bar.

Fayt sighed in a world-weary fashion, casting a regretful glance at the armchair which he would dearly have loved to sink back into until dinner. Unfortunately, being cast as the lead male in _any_ sort of game franchise not only comes with the inevitable plethora of yaoi pairings, but also other contractual obligations of the heroic kind – saving the world from psychos mostly, or at least defending some sort of backwater abode of civilisation from entities of the evil kind. (Which by the way, always makes you wonder whether the town's means of law enforcement and riot control are actually _employed_ to sit on their incompetent asses while total strangers beat off the hordes with scary things like Blitzballs and Tarot cards).

Resigning himself to his type-cast, Fayt dutifully straightened his dusty clothes and set his eyes south, placing the silhouette of the giant… _bunny_… (it still sounded ridiculous, and always would) in the middle of his visual crosshairs. Echoes of old childhood cartoons resounded through Fayt's mind, the words so clear that they might almost have been dancing a jig on the edge of his ear lobes. _Lackaday!_ _This looks like a job for…_

"Cliff!"

The owner of that name whipped his head up in alarm and nearly upended himself, so precariously balanced was he on three limbs upon the corridor floor. Cliff's free arm was currently enclosed to the hilt in a large mouse hole, while the hand on the end of it was desperately swishing an enormous fishing net to and fro within. The search for the missing carnivorous cake obviously wasn't boding well, but Fayt wasn't aware of that fact, nor did he appear particularly confused by Cliff's odd behaviour. Cliff had evidently outdone himself in the context of weirdness on previous occasions… which was kind of disturbing, when one thought about it too hard.

"I'm going out. Death, destruction, giant bunny… you know," Fayt explained by way of a casual shrug as he started gingerly picking his way across the wreckage of the broken wall.

"Don't stay out too late, you hear?" Cliff called without thinking at Fayt's back, his attention having already returned to the spot of bother he'd landed himself into with his irresponsible parenting. Melodramatic tears of guilt and frustration were gathering in the corners of Cliff's eyes as he groped blindly inside the mouse hole for something… _anything_… that was vaguely cake shaped. Alas, for all of his angling, all the net had to speak for was a piece of dried macaroni and the long lost Kotobukiya Albel figurine cast mould, both of which Cliff gloomily lobbed into the nearest garbage can. As he plunged his arm inside the mouse hole for another area sweep, he found himself wondering _why _he was so damn worried about a cake kid which had a stomach more fathomless than 4D space, and which was also starting to display an unpleasant drooling problem with the coming of adult cake-hood. Hardly the sort of creature Cliff wanted associated with the Fittir name (of course ignoring the fact that his name was already mud in several hundred colonies in the Federation). Maybe it was because Maria had grown too old – not to mention snarky – to be bounced on his knee, or maybe it was the dreaded midlife crisis which he'd thought only afflicted Earthling men and not big buff Klausians who _never_ had hang-ups with abs like theirs, or… or… oh _shoot_, it was just that he already missed the ugly yet unusually lovable green thing! "The androgynous son he'd never had" and all that mushy stuff. So where the _heck_ had it gotten to?

Well, the mouse hole was wielding little results. Not even of the mouse variety. Cliff reasoned that this was probably because the cake had already staged a bloody raid and found rodents to be tasty fare, even after digesting its baby sitter, half of the inn's employees and Cliff's vegies-which-look-like-rude-bits collection. All Cliff could detect with his fingers in the mousey lair were clumps of dust bunnies and…

"Bunnies?" Cliff said out loud, suddenly wondering where he'd very recently heard that word mentioned. Of course… Fayt had said it. Something about one being outside, actually. There was nothing newsworthy about _that_, no offence to Fayt and his childlike wide-eyed wonderment, so Cliff didn't know why his gut started flipping and flopping as the word sunk its syllables even deeper into his cranium. No, it wasn't just the noun on its own… something else had made his mental cogs whirl into overtime; _something else_ had compelled bucket-loads of adrenaline to ooze its way through his mighty veins. Something… significant… what…?

"…"

_Oh my GAWD!_

"GIANT bunny?!" Cliff yelled in horror as realisation crashed over him like a breaking tide. Of course! The biggest free meal of the century… of the millennium… of _all freaking time!_ Cliff's paternal instincts were kicking him in the rear to get a move on already and move he did – or at least, tried to. You see, Klausian forearms were never built to go digging around in mouse holes, and all of the packed muscle on Cliff's enclosed limb had backed up against the miniscule opening. In layman's terms, he was stuck. _Severely_. All hail crappy timing.

Cliff flailed helplessly against the wall, straining until the tendons in his neck bulged out like lead piping, but all of those bicep-building exercises were paying off in the most unhelpful way imaginable. Cliff doubled over in resignation, his chest heaving as he struggled to attain second wind. There just wasn't enough time for this sort of nonsense which made him look like he was suffering a bout of constipation, and anyway, Cliff had reached the point where he no longer cared about extracting himself in the politest way possible. Come on! There was a cake out there poised to _implode_ itself trying to gobble down a monster bunny snack… _his _cake goddamit… _his own adopted dough and icing!_

**"RAAAARGHHH!"**

There was already so much ruckus in the city streets, what with the panicking crowds and the less-than-subtle stomping of the bunny's feet, that yet another sound effect which could only be described as "wall-splitting" was rendered totally insignificant. The strangeness of the giant bunny on the horizon also had the effect of cancelling out any other oddities to be found in the city below. Maybe this was why no one even spared a second glance for the six foot Klausian jogging along the main road with a12x6 foot wall wrapped around one arm – wallpaper, light fittings and wood panelling in all. But even if second glances had been spared, Cliff would never have noticed anyway, so fixated was he by the sight of the bunny looming over the city practically inviting itself to be eaten. The temptation would just prove too much for those of the hungry cake variety. Oh, Cliff could only hope that it wasn't too late to exert some much needed parental authority…

_"Hang on! Daddy's coming…!"_ Cliff hollered with newly found strength as he hefted the wall onto a more comfortable spot on his shoulder. On the count of three and with a silent prayer to the great pastry God in the sky, Cliff plunged headlong into the wave of citizens who were flowing against his charge and _away _from the approaching pink monstrosity, like any wise person would do in such a situation. Then again, Cliff had never been mistaken for a sage in all of the thirty six years of his life – and based on his latest madcap performance, that was with _very_ good cause…

--------------------------------------------------

_--You know, I wish I could say I was surprised at this outcome, but I honestly can't say I am…-- _The Crimson Scourge said conversationally while Albel tore through the hysterical crowd faster than a hummingbird on crack. _--EVERYTHING turns into a big production whenever you're involved. If you're not getting thrown in dungeons and near-vapourised by fishy sharkmen, you're uncovering insidious take-over plots orchestrated by megalomaniacal pink lagomorphs. I wonder why that is, exactly…?--_

"Good question. Why don't you figure it out_after _we avoid being hopped on?" Albel rasped as he continued ploughing through the mass of Greetonites, only pausing long enough at the end of each road to get his bearings via the street signs. Standing still for any length of time longer than a few seconds was a bad idea, since every thunderous step taken by the monster bunny was catapulting stationary objects high into the air, and Albel _only_ enjoyed viewing Elicoor from outer space when he was safely inside a celestial ship. Speaking of the bunny, Albel glanced over his shoulder to gauge how much distance he'd managed to put between himself and the over-inflated rabbit, and his heart sank at the sight – it was practically dogging his heels, and the carnage littered along the length of the Greeton horizon was a discouraging promise of what was awaiting Albel and the Crimson Scourge under the soles of the bunny's size 250 feet. That thing was making Crosell look like a total pansy in comparison.

_--IT'S CATCHING UP! Go faster, you dolt!-- _The Crimson Scourge squawked needlessly as Albel strained to keep ahead of the bunny's approaching shadow, leaping over fallen objects and skirting around dubious looking cracks in the bitumen with an athleticism that would've been the envy of most Olympians. _--Don't just run aimlessly! What's the plan?--_

"_Plan?_You honestly think you can structure a run-for-one's-life?" Albel wheezed, his words bouncing up and down to the staccato rhythm of his steps. "We're leaving this maggot-infested city. Then we'll make it up as we go along. What the hell more do you want?"

Albel pointedly focused his attention back to the road so that he wouldn't have to concentrate on the Crimson Scourge's reply (which no doubt went into lengthy detail about what a prize dope he was), veering down a little side street and leaping back onto the main road which led directly back to the border doors. Albel wasn't the only one who had taken a fancy to the idea of fleeing the razed city, and even before he sighted the enormous gates, he found himself getting hopelessly snatched up by a mob of panicking Greetonites who were pouring through the doors and practically beaching themselves on the streets of Peterny. Albel put his scrawny elbows to good use, bruising rib cages on either side of him to fend off the men and women threatening to surge against his back before finding himself in the clear. After tactlessly clomping over the skulls of unfortunates who had tripped and were yet to get up, Albel's feet eventually found the Peterny cobblestones. The goal had been to hit the ground running, but unfortunately, monster bunnies have a _terrible_ inclination to be unpredictable just when you don't need them to be…

The Crimson Scourge forewarned Albel with an incoherent screech which killed several hundred outer hair cells in his ears, so he wasn't as surprised as he should've been when everything in his immediate radius was suddenly eclipsed in shadow. Years spent on battlefields had taught Albel a long time ago not to waste time with pointless instinctive reactions. The few seconds he spent diving out of the way as opposed to turning his head proved to be precious indeed since no sooner had he done so, the entire road simply _disappeared_, smothered and crushed under an exceedingly ginormous bunny foot. No shattered remains fell away as the bunny lifted its furry appendage to ready itself for another hop – every bit of sandstone and mortar which had shaped the street had been ground to powder on impact, and the dust cloud flew away from the huge footprint in the middle of the road to coat Albel's prone form with a fine layer of brown grime.

_--Wicked One…? HEY! Wicked One! Get up!-- _The Crimson Scourge groaned woozily as it picked itself up from among the wreckage of the pulverised street. Beneath his coating of dirt, Albel grimaced at the stinging pain shooting up his torso from where he had collided heavily upon the hard stones. He steeled himself as he prised his complaining body off the ground with trembling arms, but then swayed unsteadily on his knees at an onset of dizziness, prompting the Crimson Scourge to quickly dart behind him to prop him up before he fell flat on his back again.

_--No time for that! Get up! It's bringing the other foot forward! We'll be squashed! We'll die if we're squashed! Are you listening to me! Snap out of it! WE'RE GONNA DIE!-- _The Crimson Scourge hollered while it struggled in vain to keep its master upright. For all purposes, Albel's frame looked so insubstantial so as to weigh virtually nothing, but it seemed that shell-shock was a major factor in making even skinny Albel bodies as heavy and uncooperative as dead weights. _--Fuuuuudge…!-- _The Crimson Scourge wailed as it felt its blade give way from the strain and it crashed back to the ground with Albel spread-eagled on top of it, and not in a state to get up any time soon.

Through the white stars clouding his vision, Albel could just make out the fuzzy pink outline of the monster bunny, towering so high above him that its entire upper body was cloaked in silhouette against the moon. Another loud "SQUEAK!" whistled through its front teeth, causing the already mistreated earth to rumble again in reaction, and the Crimson Scourge's earlier observation was unfortunately proving to be right on the money. The bunny was indeed bringing its best foot forward, with the full intention of setting it down on the patch of street which was currently accommodating Albel and the Crimson Scourge. The bunny seemed to be taking its time – or maybe concussion made things appear to move slower – but whether it moved fast or slow, the fact remained that Albel and the Crimson Scourge were posed to become the first prototypes for a new brand of pancakes which taste like Star Ocean characters.

Albel stared up at the approaching bunny foot through glazed eyes, only dimly aware of the Crimson Scourge yelling underneath him about 52 different methods of evisceration which it _dearly_ wished to practice on Albel for making them a target for stomping practice. Albel knew that these few moments between life and death were supposed to be dedicated to meaningful last thoughts, but the only thing Albel found himself meditating on was whether anyone would have a spatula big enough to peel his paper-thin carcass off the bitumen afterwards or if they'd have to use nail files, not to mention he'd just realised how _ludicrous_ the epitaph on his tomb stone was going to sound – try as he might, Albel just couldn't figure out how to phrase "death by bunny foot" in such a way so as to preserve his dignity…

Albel was so preoccupied with these troublesome thoughts that it took him a while to register the pair of hands which had seized him around the middle, and were pulling his whole body into a frantic roll along the broken road. Albel's vision fractured into a jumbled kaleidoscope as the world spun with each revolution that his body made, his limbs and hair tails alternately flapping through the air and slamming against the stones… and then came the ear splitting "CRUNCH" as the bunny's second foot chewed through the road and everything that lay beneath it. The earth and sky shuddered with an after shock which helped to propel Albel and his rescuer further than necessary, before they were stopped in their mad roll by a conveniently placed piece of rubble.

Albel's first instinct was to open his eyes, but the quadruple vision which assailed him killed that plan pretty quickly. His other senses were providing more than enough in the way of information anyway – the grotty taste of dirt coating his tongue, the foreign but not totally unpleasant sensation of a warm weight on his chest, the noisy sound of someone trying to catch their breath close to his ear…

… and the pleasant scent of apples which overpowered even the earthy aroma of mud and broken rock. He'd know _that_ smell anywhere! Albel flipped his eyes back open in shock, just in time to be greeted with not one but _four _beauteous Embodiments of Destruction hovering close enough to his face to trigger a chronic episode of hyper ventilation. HOT DAMN! _Vive le_ afterlife!

"Albel? Your eye balls are acting kinda weird, like they're vibrating in their sockets. You haven't hurt your head, have you?" Fayt queried from where he was draped over Albel's chest, leaning closer to study Albel's disturbingly happy expression with concern. Fayt looked as enchanting as ever despite the lines of dirt streaking across his face, his tousled blue hair flaring outwards from his head after that madcap spot of tumbling and his usually spotless garments looking very grubby and worse for wear. Albel found himself getting increasingly annoyed at his failed attempts to grope three out of the four Fayts since his hand kept passing clear through them. Fayt however found himself getting increasingly… well… _weirded out_ by the way Albel seemed totally determined to molest the empty air next to his shoulders, and decided to change the subject.

"Um… never mind. Come on, let's get you up," Fayt suggested, using one hand to support Albel's head while his other arm curled around the small of his back, and he carefully pulled Albel into a more comfortable sitting position. When Albel's upper body left the ground, he felt something stir in the area of his waistband closest to the base of his spine and just like magic, the Crimson Scourge birthed itself back into the open air.

_--How nice to know you've got my welfare at the forefront of your mind, oh Wicked One.-- _The sword snapped with much indignation. _--If I hadn't tucked myself above your ass, I'd be a pile of talking steel powder by now! So what do you have to say for yourself, you little- WOOHOO hellooooo there!--_ The Crimson Scourge perked up instantly when it caught sight of Fayt, who was preoccupied with guiding Albel back onto his feet with a degree of care worthy of a nurse. Albel swayed as he straightened, but his unsteadiness was short lived – his vision finally started to refocus (Albel watched the dissolution of the three extra Fayts with mixed feelings) and his wits reassembled in time for him to remember that he was Albel Nox, captain of the Black Brigade, and having to be helped to his feet must've made him look nothing short of a sissy.

"Lay off. I can stand on my own!" Albel said brazenly, swatting at Fayt's hand where it was wrapped around his gauntlet even as the left side of his body started to sag. There hadn't been any time up until now for Albel to take in the throbbing pain radiating up the length of his left leg, and now his ever obliging brain decided to make up for lost time by amplifying the pain ten fold. Even before Albel attempted to apply weight to the leg, he could sense the unnaturally floppy state of the limb below the knee and the really icky sensation of bone fragments shifting beneath his leg's sheath of skin. The look on his face must've been a dead giveaway since Fayt refused to relinquish his hold and cast a worried glance at the offending leg.

"It probably happened when you were trying to get away before," Fayt said, looking stricken. "I'm sorry. If I'd woken up faster then…"

"Why are you blaming yourself, you fool?" Albel demanded in disbelief as he clutched at his leg. "That stupid rabbit was rampaging long before you'd have been able to hear it. I nearly had everything under control anyway, so stop assuming you're even necessary."

"Right. I'll remember that," Fayt said with a roll of his eyes, fully accustomed to Albel's bravado by now which thus made it easily ignored. He directed his attention back to Albel's injured leg, his free hand raised hesitantly as though unsure whether to touch it. "I could try a healing spell, but it won't be strong enough to mend the bone. Do you still want me to-"

_--Bunny foot at __3 o'clock__!-- _The Crimson Scourge piped up helpfully.

"Get down!" Albel ordered, seizing Fayt by the collar with one hand and snatching up the Crimson Scourge with the other before dragging both of them down to ground level. The source of the problem, namely the monster bunny, had been occupying itself for the past few minutes by nursing a bothersome itch on the tip of an ear using one of its humungous sets of toes. Itch now satisfied, the bunny was lowering its leg in an innocent fashion, blissfully unaware that even that minor movement was quite capable of demolishing an entire neighbourhood block into powdered bricks and mortar. Peterny had to endure yet another tremendous impact as did our long suffering Star Ocean heroes, and it was a good couple of moments before the dust cleared sufficiently for them to dare opening their eyes again.

"You know, we've really got to stop meeting like this…" Fayt mumbled against Albel's skin, his face firmly squashed in the crook of Albel's neck due to the force the swordsman was using to crush the young man against his body. Fayt blinked in confusion, since the first thing which greeted him upon the reopening of his eyes was the graceful curve of Albel's jaw line sitting on the bridge of his nose, and an endless expanse of chocolate and honey-coloured tresses shrouding either side of Fayt's face like two-toned curtains. The solid surface against his back alerted Fayt to the fact that he was lying in a position which ordinarily wouldn't be compromising but for the _other_ fact that Albel was currently sprawled on top of him, close enough to rival even the nearness of a skin-tight shirt. That in itself wasn't too confusing since they'd both taken a fall together… no, what _was _confusing to Fayt – and maybe even a little exhilarating – were Albel's arms, criss-crossed so tightly around the middle of his back so as to almost constrict the flow of breath to his lungs.

Fayt snuck a look downwards, noting Albel's hand and claw clutching him firmly around both shoulders so that his arms were pinned to his sides. There was strength in Albel's grasp to the point of being excessive, but Fayt wasn't bothered by it at all. On the contrary, an unmistakeable _thrill_ was making itself known in the pits of his stomach in response to Albel's oddly protective gesture. Fayt wasn't aware of any occasion where Albel had been generous enough to take a blow meant for another and Fayt's mouth parted slightly, his lips on the verge of forming the question "Why?"… but with a grin Fayt stopped himself, already knowing that he'd get nothing in response except for reasons related to his death being reserved for the point of Albel's sword alone.

Since Albel had him virtually immobilised, Fayt leaned forward a little and pressed his nose into the junction between Albel's head and throat, gently nuzzling the soft skin there to gain Albel's attention. That part of the plan certainly worked since Albel immediately stirred against him, but if the other undisclosedhalf of Fayt's plan was to get Albel's arms to tighten even more around him, then it was a roaring success. Unfortunately, there was something which Fayt just _had _to tell Albel despite these fascinating developments, since oxygen and blood flow were starting to turn into far and distant friends.

"Albel?" Fayt ventured, unaware that his expulsion of warm breath against the curve of Albel's jaw had triggered an inner battle within the man which (for once) had nothing to do with the Crimson Scourge. As if Albel needed more troubles – not only did he have to put up with conversations with a magic sword, but now his hormones were chatting to him as well. "Don't look now, but I think we've got an audience…"

Well of _course_ Albel wasn't going to put off having a look at what Fayt had just spotted, and of _course _it just happened to be the Crimson Scourge which was gawking over Albel's shoulder at the interesting _tête à tête_ laid out before it. Cursing under his breath, Albel relinquished his hold on Fayt and attempted a backwards slash at the Crimson Scourge, but after all this time, his Sunday best still wasn't quick enough to land an accurate blow on the lightning quick sword. It was understandable of course, since the Crimson Scourge had spent ten thousand years perfecting its dodging technique, possibly due to being caught in similar situations such as this.

_--Ahem! So sorry to interrupt oh Wicked One, but you seem to be forgetting that there's a rather large rabbit poised to pulverise Peterny!-- _The Crimson Scourge coughed as it bounced out of the range of Albel's claws. Despite being caught red-handed in the act of ogling, it couldn't resist a snicker or two since it derived a large amount of delight from witnessing these random touchy-feely moments. _--Now that the bunny has stopped moving and with the young one here, offensive strategy might finally be a viable option. What say you?--_

Albel leaned back on his right knee, biting back a wince at the sharp pain that shot up his left leg when he attempted to shift it. "I think that's the most _ridiculous_ idea you've ever had," Albel growled at the sword, setting his jaw in response to the pain. "Do I look like I'm in any state to fight that thing right now?"

_--Oh Stupid One. I didn't mean YOU.-- _The Crimson Scourge snorted, breezing past Albel to prove its point and doing a little dance in front of Fayt. _--The young one still has no sword thanks to your beating about the bush all day, so I'll let him wield me just for this battle. Ask him what he thinks!--_

Fayt pushed himself off the ground when he noticed the Crimson Scourge heading his way, and sat back on his heels so that his face was level with its richly crafted golden hilt. Fayt knew that the sword held no malice towards him, and that it actually harboured a fondness towards him which he found flattering if not a bit unusual, but it was still unlike anything he'd ever encountered before and that made him a little wary. Telepathic swords were a novelty that had never existed on Earth even thousands of years into the future, and the amount of intelligence which was infused in the living length of steel poised before him was intimidating to say the least. Not being able to hear the Crimson Scourge's telepathic voice didn't help things either, though of course Albel would have considered such mental silence to be a real zinger of a vacation.

"What's the Crimson Scourge saying, Albel?" Fayt looked to the swordsman for a translation.

It was Albel's turn to snort. "Never mind that for now. First… how do you feel about taking that thing down?"

Fayt looked behind Albel's shoulder at the massive bunny which had temporarily ceased its hopping, and was busy washing its face and whiskers with its enormous paws and a tongue that resembled the type of prime steak which one would cut from a blue whale. He took a quick measure of the creature in comparison to the size of its surroundings and in comparison to his and Albel's own diminutive size, and bit his lip in thought. "I don't know…" Fayt began slowly. "Trying to cut it down manually would take too long since it's so big, and that'd just make it angry anyway. Even if we _did_ manage to beat it, most of Peterny will be squashed by its body when it falls. And I'm not going to risk triggering my gene, since I might wind up destroying more than just the bunny when it manifests. Do you think there's a better way?"

Albel didn't reply at once, and Fayt recognised the glassy-eyed frown which Albel usually wore whenever he was in mental conference with the Crimson Scourge. After a few seconds of silence, Albel finally roused himself and made a gesture towards Fayt and then to the sword. "Pick it up," he ordered.

Fayt hesitated, casting his mind back to his conversation with King Arzei concerning the Crimson Scourge's bad habit of sucking out the souls of those who dared to lay a hand on it. Of course Fayt knew it did that as a safeguard against unwanted groping, but even with the Crimson Scourge's permission, he still felt at odds with the thought of tarnishing such a revered artefact with the dead skin cells coating the palms of his hands. "You break it you buy it" most probably applied to the Crimson Scourge, and Fayt was mindful that he was just a poor college freshman without an insurance fund, even if he _was_ about to be responsible for saving the known universe from deletion by a pissed-off programmer.

_--The young one is so sweetly shy! Isn't he simply precious?-- _The Crimson Scourge crooned for Albel's ears only, finding its steely heart thoroughly charmed by Fayt's uncertainty. _--I'll just have to make the first move then. Here I goooooo…!--_

Fayt emitted a very loud yelp when the Crimson Scourge suddenly bounced once upon the cobblestones as part of a run up, before launching itself partway through the air to somersault straight into the crook of his arms. Fayt looked down at the sword in bewilderment. He could've sworn that of all things, it was _snuggling_ against him to get into the warm arbour formed by the curve of his chest over his belly. Fayt found himself being reminded of Sophia's pet cat back on Earth which had always endeavoured to do the same thing whenever it sat on his lap. Thinking of what the Crimson Scourge might do if it discovered that he was likening it to a mangy moggy sobered Fayt pretty quickly, so he brought his mind back to the mission and carefully wrapped one hand around the Crimson Scourge's grip.

The sword was not cold to the touch as most swords were, and instead emanated a steady heat that spread through Fayt's fingers upon contact, warming them instantly. Fayt regained his feet and hefted the Crimson Scourge experimentally, marvelling at how something which looked so long and ungainly could feel so incredibly light and perfectly balanced all the way from its pommel to the tip of its deadly honed blade. It didn't seem to matter at all that Fayt possessed little experience wielding katanas. The Crimson Scourge had adjusted itself accordingly to match the preferences of its stand-in master, redistributing its weight and positioning in Fayt's grip to imitate the shorter, heavier swords which he was accustomed to using, and all done in the blink of an eye. Little wonder then that so many men and women had risked their souls in the hope that the Crimson Scourge would deem them worthy – for all of its bitching and argumentative nature, the Crimson Scourge was truly a magnificent weapon, and Fayt finally began to appreciate the ancient rumour that it was capable of cleaving the sky in two.

"Well? How do I look?" Fayt enquired of Albel with a lopsided grin once the Crimson Scourge had happily settled in his grasp. He hadn't failed to notice how the man was half-glaring at him from under hooded eyes, and suspected that Albel was on the verge of voicing some catty remark related to Fayt's amateurish Crimson Scourge-handling technique. There was no use in letting Albel pent up his opinions so Fayt generously decided to bare himself open to a verbal beating.

"Absolutely ridiculous! You're holding it all wrong," Albel muttered grouchily, his eyes sweeping over Fayt's body from head to toe in quick appraisal. "By setting your hand at that frontal angle, your knees will hit the blade when you run. _Not_ that I could care less if you want to look like a fool of course, since it's none of my business."

"Thanks for the concern Albel," Fayt beamed, and Albel quickly averted his eyes for fear of his face betraying his brain's flustered response to Fayt's disarming smile. Fayt shifted his sword arm from its usual position near his abdomen and let it angle out along his side, so that the Crimson Scourge was now parallel to the direction his body was facing. For extra credit points, Fayt then lowered himself into a stance which he hoped was a decent imitation of the bearing he'd often seen Albel adopt in combat, and looked to the swordsman for approval. "Does this look better?"

It was taking a considerable amount of willpower for Albel to _not _run wild with visual descriptions, due to the green light Fayt had given him for an all out, no bars perv fest by asking that question. Since Albel's true opinions on how Fayt looked right then were far from G-rated (though "gloriously-waisted" and "your butt looks like a peach only without the fuzz" may have been able to pass the censors), he decided to sidestep the question with a scowl. "This isn't a training session. There's no need for battle formalities anyway, since the sword wants you to attack that thing indirectly."

"How so?" Fayt asked, tilting his head in a bird-like fashion which also managed to be devastatingly cute, if the Crimson Scourge's mental squeal at the sight was anything to go by.

"By using the lay of the land. Pay attention, since I'm not going to repeat myself!" Albel warned, his voice taking on the no-nonsense air which he usually reserved for his Black Brigade troops. "This town is arranged the way it is for a reason. When Greeton was still a partner in trade, the mines in Kirlsa used to extend all the way here, with four underground tracks converging in Peterny's centre. The tracks are closed now, but the town's four main paths were still built upon the rafters holding up those old shafts."

"I get it," Fayt said as he looked in the direction of the main entrance road which Albel was now pointing out. "The oldest trick in the book, right? With too much excess weight, the old supports will collapse, and whatever applied the weight in the first place falls through into the hollowed out space."

Albel nodded curtly. "The aim is to make that idiotic rabbit breach the road above the main gate tunnel. There's enough space in that part of the ground for it to fit halfway, and there's a good chance it'll get stuck. If not, then at least it'd be immobilised."

"Okay…" Fayt conceded, slowly poring through the plan in his mind and ignoring the lack of finer details. For an impromptu plan in an urgent situation, it would simply have to do. "But why do I need the Crimson Scourge then, if there won't be any close quarter fighting?"

"The streets of Peterny are annoyingly thick. That rabbit has already been ploughing through most of upper Peterny without penetrating the major roads," Albel explained, gesturing at the mostly structural damage in the vicinity and the forlorn – but still mostly intact – state of the city's paths. "The Crimson Scourge wants you to soften the main gate road by using it to break up the stones. It thinks it can project some of its aura through the ground, and weaken the tunnel supports in advance."

_--I don't think, I KNOW. Stop making me look dumb in front of the young one!-- _The Crimson Scourge cut in huffily.

"Hmph. I don't need him around to achieve _that_," Albel rejoined without any delicacy on his part.

"A-a-albel, did you just say s-s-something rude to the Crimson Scourge? It's n-n-not acting happy!" Fayt stuttered. His whole body took on a terrible case of the shakes as the Crimson Scourge wriggled furiously in his grasp in its effort to administer a hilt beating on its infuriating master. Albel remained totally nonplussed since he was confident in Fayt's ability to keep hold of the squirming Crimson Scourge, and started to inch back into a standing position using only his right light leg to lever his body upwards. "Enough of this prattle! Let's get moving."

Fayt pushed the disgruntled Crimson Scourge back into its original position with some difficulty, throwing a question at Albel as the man made a move to turn away. "Hold on a sec! Aren't you in the plan?"

Albel barked out a loud, "No!" even as the Crimson Scourge merrily called out _--YES!--_in his head.

Albel whirled upon the Crimson Scourge, almost blasting it out of Fayt's hand with the force of his most potent glower power. "Stupid maggot _knife!_ I'll play no part in this pathetic excuse for a "plan", so leave me out of it!"

_--Go on, Wicked One. Tell the young one what I've told you to do!-- _The Crimson Scourge suggested gleefully. The two red dots of embarrassment which were appearing on Albel's cheeks were more than enough to assuage the sword's rage from a few minutes ago. Fayt in the meantime looked completely mystified, flicking his eyes back and forth between the two combatants before him as the argument progressed. Only being able to hear what Albel was saying put him at a distinct disadvantage when it came to trying to figure out what the hell the argument was all about, though whatever the theme was, it was certainly making Albel even more pissy than usual.

_--Will you not tell the young one? Or will I have to do the honours?-- _The Crimson Scourge said smilingly, totally unbothered by the fierceness of Albel's glare.

Albel lashed out with the flat of his claws, swatting the Crimson Scourge with enough force to send its blade flapping crazily to and fro. "It'll make no difference you stick, since I'm not_doing_ it."

_--You might wind up enjoying it.--_

"Highly unlikely!"

_--Even more so if you weren't coerced.--_

"I'd like to see you try."

_--Oh would you now? Where I was forged, them's fighting words!--_

"Be _aware_ that the denoting word was 'try'."

_--Irrelevant. I never try where I can readily succeed.--_

"Ha! This should be good."

_--It will be!--_

"I can't miss this!"

_--You'd better not!--_

"Go ahead then!" Albel sneered, his red eyes snapping with defiance. "Because either way… **_I'm not doing it!"_**

--------------------------------------------------

"I can't believe I'm doing this…" Albel muttered darkly as he hung over the partition of one of Peterny's walls wielding a hastily crafted fishing rod made from a clothesline pole, from which dangled the biggest carrot he'd been able to find in the abandoned grocery store.

_--Team Strike Force aka Best Most Fantabolous Team in the Whole Wide World to Bunny Bait. Do you read me? Over!--_

Albel yanked himself out of his reverie, nearly toppling over the wall and fumbling clumsily with the fishing rod, which he'd come close to dropping. Several streets away, Albel could just make out the top of Fayt's bright blue head bobbing behind the huge chunks of rubble strewn across Peterny's main road. Random flashes of metallic light brightening the shadows thrown by the rubble were the only indication that the Crimson Scourge was still in Fayt's possession. The sword itself wasn't visible from where Albel was stationed, which logically meant that the sword couldn't see Albel from where it was either. That was a crying shame, since the Crimson Scourge didn't know it was being deprived of a really swell view of Albel shaking his fist in its direction with enough force to reverse the bones in his wrist.

"_Paper weight!_ Do you read THAT?" Albel yelled in response to the Crimson Scourge's mental prodding, hoping that his voice could carry far enough to where it was.

_--Forgive me if I'm in error, but isn't the proper reply in most circles "Roger"?--_ The Crimson Scourge innocently ventured.

Albel smiled a tight little smile devoid of humour, even though the expression went to waste since the Crimson Scourge couldn't see him. "Paper weight. That's _precisely_what you're going to be reduced to once I'm through with you, though I'm _also _feeling inclined to melt you into industrial molten slag to be poured into spoke moulds for carriage wheels. Any preferences?"

_--Just follow your heart, oh Wicked One.-- _The Crimson Scourge replied with exaggerated sweetness. _--But come now! Is that really the type of tone you want to adopt, considering I'm the only antidote to your bane…?--_

Albel's hair tails visibly bristled with an electric current of pure temper. "If you have the gall to think that I'm going to lower myself to the level of grovelling…" Albel spat with an extra potent explosion of verbal venom, "… then let me make it clear that you're _sorely mistaken!"_

_--I assure you I was expecting nothing of the sort.-- _The Crimson Scourge sniggered in a way which suggested otherwise. _--However, you must permit me to observe that I've just generously made a marked improvement to your somewhat sparse physique. Think about it, oh Wicked One! What man WOULDN'T consider it a blessing to be endowed with such a massive can?--_

What man indeed, but for the fact that the Crimson Scourge was referring to something which had absolutely _no_ relation to the contents of Albel's larder. The swordsman gnashed his teeth in silent frustration, refraining from gracing the Crimson Scourge with a reply since there wasn't much that he _could _say to win back the upper hand in this newest instalment of their eternal tiff. The Crimson Scourge had never disclosed the fact that it knew that particular version of the notorious "Vegiform" spell, otherwise Albel might've been more cautious about goading the sword into a situation where it might actually cast the spell on him to prove a point. Now Albel had found out the hard way, having succeeded in manoeuvring himself into the unfortunate predicament where he was sporting a pumpkin in place of an ass. This of course put a serious dampener on any future attempts to woo Fayt, due to the drastic reduction in sex appeal that occurs when one's derriere becomes an honorary member of the squash family… _which_ meant Albel's only means of restoration was to get back in the Crimson Scourge's good books… _which_ meant going along with its retarded plan to trap the giant bunny… _which_ meant grudgingly accepting the inglorious role of "bunny lure" it had assigned to him, and all the mundane acts of swinging a root vegetable at the end of a string that came with the job. How many different ways were there to swing a carrot anyway?

Albel "bah'ed" in disgust, idly pulling at the green vines sprouting from the stalk at the small of his back, and tugging more savagely when his hand came away holding a pretty yellow pumpkin flower. To Fayt's credit, the boy had abstained from laughing (much) and politely enquired of the Crimson Scourge whether such a spell was necessary… that is, until the sword had conveniently whisked him away before he could argue further for Albel's case. Apparently, the sword had quickly realised just how difficult it would be to say no to Fayt! At least he'd managed to administer a hasty healing incantation before they'd parted which gave Albel temporary mobility, though the bones in his left leg were far from fused – the warning ache penetrating the numbness created by the spell was a sobering reminder of that. Still, the healing energies which had formed a protective buffer around Albel's limb were sufficient to see Albel through.

Well… _that is_, if the bunny would stop slobbering between its toes for just one darn second so that it would…

"… look over here! _Over HERE! _Blasted rabbit _maggot_!" Albel hollered angrily, stamping his uninjured foot and creating a racket which would've looked and sounded extremely comical to any passer-by. Albel might as well have preserved his kilojoules for something more productive, since the bunny remained totally oblivious to the one-man-din which was sounding only a stone's throw away from its football-field-length ears and…

"Hey… that's a good idea!" Albel chuckled evilly, taking inspiration from the author's text and tossing the fishing rod aside in favour of the nearest rock. The bunny's earth shaking hops had weakened all of Peterny's architectural supports, including the wall Albel was stationed on, so it was easy for Albel to prise loose the largest intact brick he could find. He hefted the prism of hardened clay, gauging the distance between himself and the bunny's face with an expert eye. Three turns of the arm to gain lethal velocity, one gusty swell of the wind to lend the heavy missile much needed height, zero guilt at the thought of braining a cute fluffy animal with a large object… it was the classic mathematical equation which always added up to produce a sadistically satisfying "BONK" in the majority of circumstances. Unfortunately, giant bunnies belonged to the _minority_ of circumstances, especially if all of them were like this one and possessed a fur coat which had the consistency of Kevlar body armour. The brick sailed and landed true, but it bounced harmlessly off the pink fur growing between the bunny's eyes, practically disintegrating on impact. Then again, if a giant bunny could easily be KO'ed with a piddly brick, this chapter would be cut prematurely short and well, no one wants that. No offence to Albel's throwing technique either, bless his soul.

The throw hadn't been a _total_ failure though. After all… the bunny was now looking directly at Albel.

"Oh _shit_," Albel said bluntly, for want of a better word. It summed up the situation quite nicely anyway. The original plan had been to lure the bunny towards the chopped up road with a tasty looking carrot, but the Crimson Scourge hadn't taken account of the possible contingency that the bunny would have a preference for eggplants with pumpkin buttocks. Albel's shape nowhere near resembled an eggplant but his overall colour scheme was the right colour shade, and unfortunately for Albel, squashing half of Peterny had made the bunny just a _mite_ peckish.

Large and cumbersome as the bunny was, its neck muscles certainly weren't suffering the same curse of gravity as the rest of its body since its first lunge at the pumpkin-assed eggplant with legs was quick as snapping elastic. It took all of the bunched up tension gathered in the pockets of Albel's kneecaps to send his body springing away in a desperate leap. The deafening clash of the bunny's buck teeth snapping together on his back draft a mere second later was rather worrying, alerting Albel to the fact that the bunny's margin of error when it came to snapping at mobile eggplants was _extremely_ low.

"Stupid over-sized piece of…" Albel snarled angrily when he felt his injured leg jar upon landing and he limped backwards unsteadily, his balance already upset by the shakiness of the wall under his feet. His retreating heels finally rammed against an obstacle of unbroken partition, prompting him to automatically reach across his midriff to draw his usually dependable weapon which had cheerfully promised to cut down all manner of baddies, lead RPG females and television Evangelists when first they met in that treasure vault long ago.

_So much for that_, was Albel's first thought as his fingers scrabbled uselessly at the empty scabbard strapped to his thigh… that of course, being the sanitised, family friendly version of the sentence which had flashed through Albel's head upon remembering that the Crimson Scourge was currently living it up with Fayt for a spell. This _really_ wasn't the best of times to discover the Crimson Scourge's invisible fine print attached to its verbal battle contract (obviously pertaining to the matters of monsters too big to go on certain rides, and spending quality time with spunky looking guys), but regrettably, dangling the sword over a vat of boiling Crisco oil while laughing maniacally on the sidelines wearing Inquisitor leather was going to have to wait. The bunny was surging forward yet again, its moist black eyes fixated on Albel's yummy figure and its neck craning over the partition of the wall, meditating on the chance of a second strike. In its little peanut sized bunny brain, it could almost taste that sweet, sweet aubergine already, oh yes…!

DONK.

The bunny pulled back a little, its enormous fuzzy pink face screwing up in confusion. Hey now, this certainly wasn't in the program – nothing in the bunny's subconscious store of ancestral, hoppity lore mentioned _anything_ about eggplants capable of wielding a mean fishing pole, and the bunny made a vague mental note to stow that tidbit of knowledge away for later pondering. The slight stinging pain that was making its nose itch was easily brushed aside with a shake of its monstrous head. However no sooner had the bunny done so, a warning swish preceded yet another DONK to its already maltreated sniffer and the bunny recoiled again, a pathetic whimper escaping from the gap between its super-sized buck teeth.

Albel regarded the bunny's slight retreat with a mistrustful eye, keeping all fingers and claws wrapped tightly around the fishing pole in case a third DONK was called for. With said pole raised and limbs aesthetically arranged, the pose Albel was striking looked pretty cool in a Donatello-Turtle Power!-sort-of-way, but the effect was dimmed somewhat by the carrot which was still dangling from the end of the pole (complete with an "EAT ME" message which the Crimson Scourge had helpfully carved into the skin), so Albel was thankful that no one he knew was around to witness this latest indignity. Speaking of which though… where _was _Fayt and that blasted sword? Albel slid his eyes sideways in the general direction of the Peterny gates, but the flashes of steel from earlier had ceased and the only sounds punctuating the air belonged to the last couple of citizens fleeing the city. That, he supposed, was an indication that Fayt and the Crimson Scourge had done their part and were waiting on him to herd the bunny like some bipedal sheep dog. Therein lay problem number one – the bunny was more interested in fine dining than moving its bright pink butt.

Albel shrugged. Simple solutions were the salt of the earth, and a bunny doing a sloth impression simply wasn't worth calcifying his grey matter over. Riding on that train of thought, Albel raised the fishing pole, took lock and aim… and harpooned the bunny with an almighty POKE.

The silence that descended in the wake of that discourtesy was positively _deadly._

Bunnies had always been endeared on Elicoor for their smiling facades and wet blanket dispositions which could bring out anyone's inner sap, so any measurement of the exact length of their emotional bunny "fuses" had gone largely to the doldrums. Something as dumb and happy as that just didn't _get _mad. I mean, sure… the bunny hadn't had the easiest of days so far what with being dragged from under Elicoor by a crackpot government agency, watching sadly as hundreds of potential friends ran screeching for the hills (the "Cologne Carotte" obviously wasn't having the desired effect) and to top it all off, being assaulted by a disgruntled eggplant… but none of that had proven to be the chink in the bunny's metaphorical armour of good cheer. The _chink_, mind you – it didn't mean that all of the above hadn't burnt up a considerable amount of the bunny's fuse, which had proven so far to be generously lengthy. _Up until now_.

At least one helpful fact could be derived from the ugly expression which was rapidly descending upon the bunny's facial features, blanketing any last remnants of cuteness: "Albel-risms", famed for their lack of etiquette among the human race but otherwise generally harmless, were capable of having a _far_ more drastic effect on all things bunny. This discovery would've been better appreciated of course, if it had been uncovered with a test subject who wasn't large enough to have its own postcode. As it stood though, Albel was now in a whole new world of excrement due to the several thousand tons of angry bunny before him, which was poised to unleash its fuzzy pink brand of malice single-handedly on the exceptionally rude eggplant which (in the bunny's opinion) was long overdue for a good spanking. In response, Albel looked over his available arsenal against the upcoming onslaught, causing his brain to metaphorically frolic through a quagmire of despair, on top of the song and dance number it was already performing in the valley of the shadow of death. The only _real_ utility he could see in the carrot was as an after-Albel mint, while the fishing pole at most could only provide the bunny with a toothpick after Albel had started his new career as indigestion. Because we all know of course, that it'd be godawful to have hair tails wedged between one's teeth. (Sorry Albel. That was tactless, I know.)

Overall though, it boiled down to two choices – the carrot or the stick, quite literally! Albel however failed to be amused by that little piece of literary magic, and wasted no time in ripping the wizened root vegetable off the end of his makeshift staff and tossing it onto the road below. Poorly armed or not, Albel was still nursing a fresh sting of insult from his earlier encounter with Bunny Seele, and it'd be a cold day in Mosel Dunes before he met his maker to the machinations of _those _crazy sods. Without dropping his narrowed eyes from the bunny's own murderous glare, Albel deftly cracked the pole over one knee and brandished the two halves before him, letting the moonlight illuminate the splintered sharpness of the raw wooden tips.

"_Maggot! _Come on, try!" Albel taunted at the top of his voice, even as the bunny roared its reply in the form of a monstrous "SQUARL!" and lumbered forward, its entire body careening into the wall in an explosion of pink fur and shattered brick. Flinging himself out of the epicenter of the bunny's charge into a void to who-knows-where, Albel squeezed his eyes shut against the cloud of grit, took a wild stab in the dark… and suddenly felt his makeshift stakes snag, the tips wedging themselves into an unmistakable expanse of dense and spongy living flesh. Even the consequent roar and abrupt lurching of the bunny couldn't drown out the absurd realisation which went flashing through Albel's head just then, nor could the crazy jerking of his body on the butt end of the imbedded stakes – no, instead it was _galvanizing_.

_Fool. I'd fell bunnies for you!_

--------------------------------------------------

And that's another chappie down for the count – lol, so much for my guess that it'd all wrap up under 10 parts. XD Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it, and the next chapter will definitely herald the conclusion of the bunny antics. P

Next chapter: Bunny vs Albel+Fayt+Crimson Scourge! Also… will Cliff ever find his prodigal cake son? What sword will Albel finally decide on as a gift? Why is Zen so notoriously bad at updating? All shall eventually be revealed! -Spirits herself away-


End file.
